


Somewhere Darker

by Elorianna



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Milex - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationship, I was reading The Shining while I wrote this, Implied dubcon, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Dom/sub undertones, Mild Horror, Mild Threat, Sexual Content, gothic fantasy, some moderate violence in later chapters, taking liberties with Freud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 83,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elorianna/pseuds/Elorianna
Summary: Alex hasn't slept properly for weeks. His days are plagued with writer's block, and his nights are haunted by strange and frightening dreams. Progress on the second Puppets album has all but ground to a halt.Miles is haunted too, by the nights that he and Alex have shared, and the boundaries that they've crossed. Now, he's caught in a game of pretence which neither one of them seems destined to win.But all is not as it appears, and when a working break away from LA turns into a strange misadventure, Alex and Miles must each decide where their real priorities lie, and how much they're willing to risk in order to attain their hearts' desires.Will they find a way to repair their fragmented relationship? Or will they remain trapped in a nightmare from which neither one of them can ever wake up...?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So after four months of work, this fic is finally finished! I've had a real adventure writing it and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it with you guys - I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> I'll be aiming to post at least two chapters a week, so expect regular updates.
> 
> Take note that this is a slightly unusual story, and it may not be everybody's cup of tea, so please do heed the tags :)
> 
> Special thanks and appreciation go to RichieBrook for her endless encouragement, moral support and sense of humour while I was writing this fic :)
> 
> Update 10/02/20: this story is now also [ available in Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9000059) \- many thanks to the translator! :)

  
  


  


Miles woke to the sound of Alex’s voice. His friend was mumbling again in his sleep. Miles turned over to face him but it was too dark in the room to see much of anything. He reached out, found Alex’s arm and gave him a gentle shake.

“Hey, hey, ssshhh…”

Alex remained oblivious to Miles’s attempt to soothe him. He twitched slightly and muttered something unintelligible.

Miles sighed and began to stroke his hand back and forth along Alex’s arm. The poor kid had been having bad dreams for the past few weeks now, and the reason was undoubtedly stress-related. There had been a lot of late nights recently; late nights that had bled into early mornings. Too many of those nights had ended with Alex passed out on either the couch or the bed, a guitar still clutched loosely in his arms while the weak morning sun filtered in through the blinds.

They’d had such grand plans for their second Puppets album. It’d been a long time coming, and between them they’d had so many ideas – ideas which at first had seemed so promising. Now though, they seemed to have hit a brick wall, and most of their big ideas had turned out to be dead ends. The words just refused to fit together, the melodies came out all crooked and jarring to the ear, and their half-finished songs lay scattered about Alex’s home studio in broken bits and pieces like a poorly made jigsaw. In short, the new record was going nowhere fast, and despite all their efforts it seemed that neither the music nor the lyrics were flowing in the way that they’d hoped.

Lately, Alex had taken to pacing from room to room, a guitar slung over his shoulder, heavy bags under his eyes, his fingers restlessly drumming against an arm or a leg as he struggled with the problem. It was obvious that he was exhausted, and all the nights of broken sleep weren’t helping.

Miles had seen Alex suffer from writer’s block before, and it had never been a pretty sight, but the nightmares were something new. Or at any rate, they were new to Miles. Lots of things were new to Miles lately – not least the fact that he and Alex were now sharing a bed on a regular basis. He’d bunked up with Alex before on the odd occasion, on tours and such like, but it had never been quite like this. During the last month, there were boundaries that had been crossed; boundaries of space, and of skin. Sometimes it all felt like some kind of crazy dream, and Miles often felt the urge to pinch himself just to prove that he was really awake.

It wasn’t something they talked about, not really. It was just something they did, in the dark. There were no words, only touches; only fingers and mouths. Miles still didn’t really understand how it had started. It had been a perfectly ordinary evening in all other respects. They’d been lying side by side on Alex’s bed in the early hours, drinking whisky and talking about music as they often did, and although they hadn’t exactly been sober, they hadn’t been drunk either. Miles remembered clearly that Alex had been trying to explain something to him about lyrical subtexts, and about how you could invoke an abstract idea using a combination of metaphor and symbolism, or something along those lines. He remembered the flash of Alex’s eyes and the excited gestures he’d been making with his hands as he talked. It had only been a momentary impulse. One minute he was just listening and nodding along, and the next he was pinning Alex down, pushing him into the bed, tasting the whisky on Alex’s tongue and feeling the surprising heat of his mouth.

More surprising still had been the way that Alex had surrendered immediately to his touch. There had been no questions, no confused looks. He’d acted as though Miles had kissed him a hundred times before; as though there was nothing extraordinary in him suddenly finding Miles’s hands gripping his waist, his hips. Miles had explored every inch of Alex with his tongue that night, and it had been both familiar and strange. Afterwards, they’d lain together quietly in the dark without speaking, until eventually Alex had fallen asleep curled into a foetal position at Miles’s side. Miles had covered him over with a blanket and then retreated to the spare bedroom, his jaw still aching and his head spinning with unvoiced questions.

The next day, over a late breakfast, Miles had waited for Alex to say something about the previous night – but Alex’d never raised the subject. He’d seemed determined to behave as if nothing unusual had happened, and so instead they’d pressed on with their work. As the day continued, Miles had begun to fear that Alex thought it’d all been a terrible mistake, and so he’d followed Alex’s lead, bitten his tongue, and said nothing.

Just over a month later, he was still saying nothing, but nonetheless Alex had ended up in his bed on numerous occasions, and with increasing frequency. They seemed to have found a way to communicate without words, a way of speaking only with eyes and with sighs. On the few occasions that Miles had attempted to start a real discussion about their altered relationship, Alex had swiftly changed the subject; sometimes by deflecting the conversation on to other things, other times by pressing hot kisses into Miles’s mouth until Miles could no longer think, let alone speak.

Alex’s kisses were like a parallel reality that Miles had stumbled into by mistake. He felt lost in a maze with no entrance or exit, feeling his way blindly through dark corridors. He didn’t know what lay outside the maze, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know any more. Every touch, every caress, every kiss pulled him deeper into the labyrinth, and as much as it scared him, he couldn’t seem to stop. He was beginning to feel almost perversely grateful for Alex’s writer’s block; the longer that Alex couldn’t write, the longer they might be able to stay here in this strange new reality. When the record was complete, they would both have to return to the real world, and he didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know what any of this meant.

His brooding thoughts dissolved as Alex shifted position at his side and let out a low whimper. He heard Alex’s breathing hitch and stutter, and then Alex whimpered again, louder this time. Whatever it was that he was dreaming about, it was obviously getting worse. Miles ceased gently stroking his arm and instead gave him a firm squeeze.

“Al, come on, wake-up.”

Alex jumped. He inhaled air in a sharp gulp and sat bolt upright. “What? Where–?”

“Ssssh, yer safe, yer just dreaming.”

Alex’s rapid breathing gradually began to slow. “Sorry, I– I forgot where I was.”

“Yer at home, with me. Come ‘ere.”

Miles reached out and wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist. Alex resisted for a second, but then allowed himself to be tugged back down into the bed. They lay face to face and Miles fitted himself against Alex’s body, one leg slipping between Alex’s thighs. He stroked a hand up Alex’s spine and felt him shiver.

“Gonna tell me what yeh were dreamin’ about this time?” he said.

Alex pressed his head into the crook of Miles’s neck. “It were the same as before,” he said. “This weird overgrown building. It had all these red-lit windows, and there were, like, shadows of people inside dancing.”

“That doesn’t sound too scary.”

“It weren’t just the building. It were like an atmosphere or summat. Like there were summat in there, waitin’ for me. I just knew that if I went inside, I wouldn’t be comin’ out. And then the door opened, and I were, like, pulled forward, and–”

“Sssssh,” Miles said. Alex’s breathing had speeded up again. He wrapped both his arms around Alex’s slim waist and hugged him. “Nuffin’s gonna happen to yeh while yer here with me.”

Alex nodded, and the movement caused his hair to brush against Miles’s face. Miles pressed a kiss into the middle of that soft tangle and felt the warmth of Alex’s scalp against his lips. Alex sighed quietly, and the sound made Miles want to kiss him again. He pressed his mouth to Alex’s forehead, to his eyelids, and to the sharp line of his cheekbones. Finally he captured Alex’s tongue with his own, pressing, insisting, and he felt Alex yield and go pliant. Alex murmured as Miles kissed him harder, and he didn’t protest when Miles pushed him over on to his back; he just let Miles position him, and he moaned quietly as Miles began to explore first with his hands and then with his tongue.

In this, at least, Miles could maintain some illusion of control; Alex gave him all the control he wanted. In their shared, wordless language, Alex had made it very clear, early on, that Miles would be the one in charge of what the two of them did together once it got dark. Nevertheless, it was a purely physical power that Miles knew he held over Alex; the power to make him pant and writhe and cry out, the power to fuck him into the bed until he was gasping, sobbing, incoherent. Sometimes, in the midst of the heat generated by their two bodies, it was almost enough. He could almost forget that he was lost in those dark corridors, that there was a world outside waiting for them.

But in the aftermath, all the fears would come rushing back, and he would remember that no matter how tightly he held on, no matter how closely their bodies became entwined, he had no more control over Alex than he had over the passage of time. The hourglass of their strange new relationship would surely, eventually, run out of sand, and then, just like the sand, Alex would slip right through his fingers, and he would be left clutching at nothing but empty air.

But not tonight. He would not lose his grip tonight. He would keep hold of Alex, even if it meant sinking further still into that impossible, unsolvable labyrinth.

He pressed his fingers into the soft flesh of Alex’s thighs and felt Alex shudder against the thrust of his hips. He took every breath, every sigh, every moan that Alex gave him, and he wrapped himself up in those sounds of submission as though they might somehow shield him from harm. He lost himself in the heat and the pressure of Alex’s body until every part of him burned and ached and trembled. He took, and took, and took, and he pretended that it was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was something… something about his eyes. There was something wrong with his eyes._

Alex gasped and jerked into wakefulness, blinking in the morning light. The room was full of soft shadows. His clothes from the previous day still lay scattered on the floor where Miles had flung them. Two glasses of whisky sat half-empty and abandoned on the nightstand.

_Miles_. He lay sleeping at Alex’s side, his face wearing the slight ghost of a frown. Carefully, so as not to wake him, Alex edged out of the bed, slipped into his dressing gown, and padded quietly down the hall to the studio.

Everything there was in the same hectic disarray in which he had left it. The wastebasket was a cliché, overflowing with screwed up pieces of paper covered in his own untidy handwriting. His guitar leant drunkenly against the sofa; sheet music was scattered about on the floor. He picked up one of the loose pages and scrutinised it. It was wrong. It was all wrong. It just didn’t _flow_. All his phrases, both musical and lyrical, limped and groaned and juddered across the stave like a shoddy actor performing his own unconvincing death scene.

His thoughts were all out of tune. Just like the music.

He sat down heavily on the sofa and picked up a different sheet. Perhaps there was something in this one, something that he could salvage. He picked up a pen and hovered it over the lines of notation, screwing up his face and squinting. He could almost see them… all the right notes that were buried underneath all the wrong ones… but they wouldn’t come clear. He pressed downwards with the pen, drew in some more lines and added another bar or two. He picked up his guitar and plucked the melody out on the strings.

_That was it. That was the right sound. _

He plucked the strings again and allowed himself a small smile. He played on, improvising, bending the strings to his will, and his smile grew wider as the music fell into place beneath his fingers. For a glorious moment, all the notes obeyed him, the music fizzed through his blood like something alive, and he had control over the whole illiterate, chaotic, tangled mess of it. But then, just before he could seize hold of the feeling, his fingers twitched and stuttered as though jolted with sudden pain. The notes tripped over themselves and became discordant. The melody that had been flowing though his head wavered and winked out of existence, and everything fell apart. The music lurched to a grinding, disharmonious stop.

Alex tossed his guitar aside in disgust. It’d been the same bloody thing every day for the last couple of months now, and then of course the nightmares had started, the way they always did whenever he couldn’t write. It was the sheer stress of it; all his thoughts and ideas building up inside of him as though he were some kind of crazy compression chamber with a broken release valve. He’d have gone insane eventually if all that pent up creative energy hadn’t found an alternative means of escape, and so, as usual, his brain had chosen to blast him with it at night when he was trying to sleep.

It had never been this bad before, though. And the dreams themselves were… different from his usual sorts of dreams.

Normally, he was prone to the kind of anxiety dreams that were typical of his chosen vocation; dreams about forgetting how to play his guitar in the middle of a show, or dreams of an unsatisfied audience walking off in disgust, leaving him to play to an empty arena. He knew where he stood with those sorts of dreams and he knew how to shake them off. During the last few weeks though, all those dreams had gradually disappeared and been replaced by just one; a recurring nightmare in which he was standing outside a large dilapidated building in the middle of a gloomy-looking forest. There was something inside the building waiting for him, something hungry, something that drew him in helplessly – and that was the most disturbing part. He would stand there frozen, unable to move, and the doors would slowly swing open, spilling eerie red light out on to the ground, and then it was as though part of him actually _wanted_ to go inside. He would feel his feet start to walk of their own accord, and he would inch closer to whatever it was that was waiting for him in that dim, shadowy doorway, and at the last second he would open his mouth to scream… and then he would wake up.

Sometimes, he managed to simply shout himself awake. It was an old trick, and one that he’d used in the past to pull himself out of particularly bad nightmares. Lately, though, it was more common for him to awaken to Miles shaking him roughly by the arm and telling him _Alex,_ _wake up, wake up, it’s only a dream_.

He talked in his sleep, or so Miles told him; nothing coherent, just mutterings. He’d hoped the dreams might start to tail off now that he was rarely sleeping alone, but if anything they’d only grown more frequent and more intense. He’d taken to staying awake longer and longer under the pretext of working on the album, but no one could stay awake forever. The daylight had started to hurt his eyes, and in his mind he was left inhabiting some vague, shadowy place that lay somewhere in between sleeping and waking.

In some ways, he almost didn’t mind it; the feeling of being only half-awake. It made reality itself seem dreamlike, and in that dreamlike state all kinds of things seemed possible. The border between what was real and what was imaginary felt so thin, it was almost as though he could conjure things into being simply by thinking about them.

Like that night when Miles had kissed him.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, it hadn’t been the first time that he’d had that sort of inclination towards Miles. There had been a fair few occasions in fact, over the years. But that night, floating in a haze of whisky and sleep deprivation, it’d been more than just a passing thought.

He’d been waffling on about something long-winded and convoluted, as usual, and Miles had been indulging him, also as usual, and he’d glanced over at Miles and suddenly grown strangely fixated on the curve of his mouth, and how soft his lips looked in the dim light. Of course, he’d pushed the thought away, blamed it on the whisky; but then his traitorous subconscious had started up with an incessant whispering.

_Kiss me._

Not so much a thought as an imperative, an endless refrain that lay beneath the words that he was actually saying out loud.

_Kiss me._

He’d tried to block it out, but he may as well have tried to stop the sea from reaching the shore. The effort had made his head hurt. Eventually, he’d given up and decided to just let it whisper; he’d let the whispering fill his mind until it really did sound like the sea, and the whispers had washed away all of his other thoughts. Something in his mind’s eye had seemed to shimmer, and in the next moment, before he’d quite known what was happening, reality had slipped sideways and Miles was leaning over him, eyes black with desire, and he could taste Miles’s soft lips, and his tongue. The whole world had narrowed to a single point, and there’d been nothing else after that; only heat, and skin, and the hammering of his heart.

Afterwards, he’d been afraid to say anything, in case he somehow broke the spell. It was his fault that they’d ended up in this strange liminal space, this borderland between friendship and something else, something that had no name because he’d refused to name it. He was afraid that giving it a name would mean exposing it to reason, to logic, to the cold light of day; dreams could not survive such things.

He shook his head at himself. It was ludicrous, of course, to believe that he’d really dreamed the whole thing between him and Miles into existence. He wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t recognise how crazy that sounded. And yet… a part of him feared that, on some level, it was true. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it would vanish if he made the mistake of looking at it too closely.

Miles, for his part, seemed generally willing to go along with whatever Alex wanted – and that was another thing that troubled him. Ever since that first night, when he’d half-consciously willed Miles to kiss him, he’d become almost superstitious about his own power of influence. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he’d somehow done something wrong, something improper. Perhaps it was just his insomnia, affecting his reasoning ability and making him paranoid, but he couldn’t help wondering whether Miles would still have kissed him if he hadn’t been willing it _quite_ so hard. The idea made him feel a little queasy, and so ever since that first night he’d made a conscious effort to pull back from all his own wants and desires, to dampen them down, and to let Miles decide how he wanted things to progress physically between the two of them.

And really, it wasn’t such a bad thing. Their thoughts usually tended towards similar directions in any case… at least most of the time. Most of the time ought to have been enough.

Alex sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. He wasn’t used to feeling so adrift. Life was by nature unpredictable, but in the past he’d always managed to keep at least one hand on the steering wheel; even if it happened that he ended up driving down a blind alley on the wrong side of the road – figuratively speaking. Right now, though, he felt like a passenger. He didn’t have so much as a road map and it was like he was being driven along by unknown forces to some unknown destination. He’d lost power over his writing process, over his vision for the record, even over his sleeping patterns. What he really needed was to take back some control, to forge a new path for himself – but in his current haze, he wasn’t sure where or how to start.

His thoughts returned to Miles, no doubt still lying naked in his bed, peacefully asleep. His heart beat a little faster. Sometimes the intensity of his feelings for Miles frightened him. There were times when he wanted to… but no, he didn’t quite dare to think those thoughts. It wasn’t fair to Miles; he didn’t deserve to become a puppet to Alex’s strange whims. At the end of the day, there were some dreams that were safer left buried.

He picked up his guitar again, gathered up the rest of the scattered sheet music, and consciously set his expression to one of grim determination. He would wrestle this damn record into submission, even if it was the last thing he ever did.


	3. Chapter 3

Miles stretched out an arm, and grabbed hold of nothing. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at Alex’s side of the bed, which was empty. The colour of the light indicated that it was already close to midday.

He sighed and pushed away his feeling of disappointment that Alex had snuck out once again without waking him. It was becoming a familiar routine; every night, sheltered by the comforting darkness, they tore at each other’s clothes and fell into bed in a sweaty tangle of limbs, and every morning Miles woke up to find himself alone. It seemed as though Alex didn’t want to face up to the reality of this thing between the two of them, at least not once the sun had risen.

Miles gathered up the fragments of the previous night and pushed them carefully to the back of his mind. He’d become something of an expert at compartmentalising lately; it was the only way that he could keep working with Alex on a day-to-day basis. Some days were harder than others; some days he almost had to induce a kind of temporary amnesia in himself just to be able to play simple riffs on the guitar. If he didn’t, his attention was apt to wander to thoughts of the two of them together, to Alex’s body, or to the sounds Alex made when he–

Miles blinked hard and gave himself a gentle pinch on the arm. _Later._ _Now is not the time._

He got out of bed, showered, dressed, and then went to look for Alex.

He found him in the studio, slumped on the little sofa in the corner of the room, curled possessively around his guitar and still in his dressing gown, fast asleep. Miles sighed. He gently pried the guitar out of Alex’s hands and set it back in its stand. He fetched a blanket and laid it over Alex’s sleeping form, resisting the urge to run his fingers through Alex’s hair as he did so. He didn’t want to wake him – the kid needed all the sleep he could get.

He went downstairs and set about making himself some breakfast. The sunlight poured lazily in through the kitchen windows and brightened Miles’s mood as he raided the fridge, cracked some eggs into a pan, and then loaded up the toaster. Alex wouldn’t mind him making himself at home; during the last few weeks he’d stayed over so frequently that he was practically living there. Ostensibly, it was so that he and Alex could spend more time working on the record… the other reason for Miles’s frequent sleepovers remained, of course, unspoken.

The toaster popped. Miles scooped the eggs from the frying pan on to a plate and poured himself a glass of juice. He was just beginning to butter the toast when he heard a loud crash from upstairs. _What the hell was that?_

He dropped the knife and dashed out into the hallway. He took the stairs two at a time. He pushed open the door to the studio and immediately spotted Alex crumpled in a heap on the floor, holding his head with one hand.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Miles moved quickly to Alex and knelt down beside him.

“M’okay,” Alex muttered. He pulled his hand away from his forehead and revealed a small gash just above his left eyebrow.

“Christ, yer bleeding.”

“Yeah… think I might’ve bashed me head on summat.”

“What were yeh _doing_?” Miles said.

“I think I were runnin’… or tryin’ to run. Summat was chasing me…”

Miles let out a sigh. “You were dreamin’ again?”

Alex looked up at him sheepishly. “Yeah, I might’ve been.”

“Al, yeh can’t go on like this, man. Sleep walking is one thing, but sleep running? Yer gonna end up properly hurtin’ yerself if yer not careful.”

Alex gave a helpless shrug. “What d’ya want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Just wait there while I get the first aid kit.”

Miles left the room and quickly returned with a small green pouch. He unzipped it, ripped open an antiseptic wipe and gently dabbed it against the cut on Alex’s forehead.

Alex hissed. “It stings.”

“Yeah, I bet it does,” Miles said. “Keep still.” He finished cleaning the cut and then applied a plaster. “There, all done.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “Sorry if I scared ya.”

Miles puffed out his cheeks. “It’s okay,” he said. “But I mean it – yeh can’t go on like this, not sleepin’ and that. Maybe…”

Alex looked up. “Maybe what?”

Miles gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to say what he’d been about to say – that maybe they should stop working on the record altogether, seeing as it was giving Alex so much stress. He couldn’t quite bring himself to make that suggestion. It was too soon. If they stopped working on the record, the other stuff between them would probably stop too, and he was nowhere near ready to give all that up. He wracked his brains for an alternative solution, and a thought shimmered suddenly through his mind.

_What about a holiday? Perhaps in a nice little hotel, somewhere off the beaten track? _

He blinked. It was true that they could both do with a break to clear their heads. It might actually be an ideal solution.

“Maybe we should just get away for a bit,” he said. “We could take a trip or something. I mean, we’ve been shut up in the house for weeks now – maybe a change of scene would help yeh get over yer writer’s block. Yeh said it was the writer’s block causing yer insomnia, right?”

Alex nodded slowly. “Right. Yeah. That’s not a bad idea, actually. But where would ya wanna go?”

“I dunno – maybe we could just drive someplace, get out of the city. We could stop over in a B&B and take some time to chill out for a bit.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “But we’d be workin’ on the record still, right?”

Miles nodded quickly. “Right. It’d be like a working break. We’ll take the guitars and the portable recorder with us.”

Alex hummed like he was mulling it over. “Yeah, alright then,” he said finally, but then he made a face. “If we’re going by road, then I assume I’ll be the one doing all the driving.”

Miles made a face back. He’d never had much of a knack for driving. He’d never even bothered to try out for his licence. “Think of it this way,” he said. “Since yer the one driving, yer the one that gets to decide where we go.”

Alex’s mouth curled upwards into a half smile. “Yeah, I suppose there’s that,” he said.

“Come on, then,” Miles said. He gave Alex his hand and helped him up from the floor. “Let’s go look at a map and see if we can plot a route.”

* * *

It hadn’t taken long at all for Alex to decide where he wanted to go.

“If we’re doing a road trip, we ought to do it properly,” he’d said. “We ought to drive out along one of those desert highways that ya read about – one of those roads where hardly anyone goes.”

Miles had been doubtful. “That’s some pretty intense driving, man. Are yeh sure yeh wouldn’t rather go somewhere more populated… like a little town with a spa or something?”

“You were the one who said ya wanted to get out of the city.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean that far out–”

Alex had swatted him with the roadmap and ribbed him for having no sense of adventure, and so now, here they were – the car was loaded with their luggage and their instruments and they were about to set off for a week-long jaunt; away from LA, away from civilisation, just the two of them.

Miles hadn’t planned for the trip to be some kind of romantic getaway, but it was kind of starting to feel like one. He felt a little ripple of excitement at the idea. They’d never taken this thing between the two of them – whatever it was – outside the house before, and he was curious to see where the trip might lead them. He didn’t want to hope for too much, but maybe the time away would give them both a bit of mental freedom, some breathing space. Maybe Alex might actually relax enough to have a real conversation about where their relationship was headed. Anything was possible.

He glanced over at Alex now. Alex was sitting in the driver’s seat and fiddling with the sat-nav, an expression of concentration on his face. He gave the device a few final pokes and then set it in its holder on the windscreen.

“Ready to go?” he said.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Miles.

Alex grinned. “Hold on tight then, baby, ‘cos I’m takin’ us for a ride.”

Miles rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile. Alex started the engine and the car moved forwards out of the driveway and on to the open road.


	4. Chapter 4

_“I’m not touching you again until you say it,” Alex said._

_Miles moaned. He tugged once more against his restraints, but it was futile – he was going nowhere. His body ached with an increasingly desperate need. _

_Alex just stood there watching him with a devilish smile. He tossed the handcuff keys up and down in his right hand. “Want these?” he said. “That’s too bad. I might just have to leave you there. Perhaps you don’t really want it that badly, after all–”_

_Miles made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob._

_“What did you say?” Alex pinned him with a look. “I didn’t catch that, Miles, you’ll have to speak up.”_

_Miles felt himself go limp beneath the weight of Alex’s stare. “Please,” he whispered._

_“There now, was that so difficult?”_

_Miles shuddered with relief as Alex finally came back towards the bed. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight of Alex’s thighs in those skin-tight leather trousers. How the hell had he even managed to squeeze into them? They left absolutely nothing to the imagination and Miles couldn’t help staring at the prominent bulge at the front, which was clear evidence of how much Alex was enjoying this little scene._

_His breath hitched as Alex climbed up on to the bed and straddled him, one leather clad knee on each side. He grabbed a fistful of Miles’s hair and yanked his head back. _

_“Are you going to let me take care of you, Miles?” he said. “Are you going to be good?”_

_Miles gasped and whined. He was so hard it was painful. Alex’s fingers tightened in his hair and all he could manage was another whispered “please…”_

_Alex’s smile grew wider. He knelt up close to Miles’s face, unzipped his trousers and freed himself. He pressed his cock against Miles’s lips._

_“Open your mouth,” he said._

* * *

“Miles? Miles? Miles, wake up.”

“Mmmmf… wha’?”

“Miles, for fuck’s sake.”

The remains of his dream evaporated in an instant and he opened his eyes to find Alex shaking him by the shoulder. He blinked in confusion. _What the hell was I just dreaming about?_

“What’s the matter?” he said out loud.

“I think there’s summat wrong with the car,” Alex said. “Clutch isn’t biting properly, I’m not getting any power.” He jammed his foot down on the accelerator to demonstrate his point. The engine revved loudly, but then not much else happened – they were slowing down rather than speeding up. Alex hammered the accelerator again and the car whined like it was in pain.

“Alright, stop, stop,” Miles said.

Alex took his foot off the pedal, but it was too late. The car began to fill with a horrible acrid smell. They rolled forward slowly for another few seconds, and then came to a complete halt.

“Shit,” Alex said.

Miles groaned and unbuckled his seat belt. He got out, walked round to the front of the car and popped open the bonnet. He stared for a moment at the tangle of metal and pipes. Alex got out too and came over to stand beside him.

“So…” Alex said after a pause. “What are ya thinkin’?”

“I’m thinkin’,” Miles said, “that I don’t know nuffin’ about cars, and neither do you.”

Alex hummed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I thought ya might be thinkin’ that. Should we phone for help?”

“Yup.” Miles pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “Except that I’ve got no fuckin’ signal. Have you?”

Alex was looking at his own phone with a frown. “Uh… no.”

Miles groaned again. “How is that even possible, where the hell are we anyway?”

Alex leaned back into the driver’s side of the car and pulled out the road map. “Last I checked, the sat-nav said we were somewhere around here,” he said. He pointed at an empty looking space on the map which had a single road running through it and not much else.

“Christ, we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere,” Miles said.

He walked further out into the road and stood there looking around. The route stretched out as far as he could see in both directions, and on either side of the tarmac there was nothing except dusty looking scrubland. A dark patch of forest hugged the edges of the road in the near distance, and far beyond on the horizon were the shadowy peaks of the mountains. There were no other cars to be seen, no buildings, no nothing. The nearest service station might be just around the next bend, or it might be hours away – there was no way to tell.

“Miles?”

Miles turned back to Alex. “Yeah?”

Alex was looking off towards the patch of forest in the distance. “I’m not sure, but that sign over there… it looks like it might be for a payphone?”

Miles squinted in the direction that Alex was pointing. Alex was right, there did seem to be a sign, though he couldn’t quite read it from here. “It looks like… something,” he said. “Let’s walk over and have a look.”

“And leave the car here?” Alex said.

“It’ll be fine,” Miles said. “Anyway, it’s not like we have much choice, is it?”

Alex looked back at him with a worried frown. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Miles sighed. They’d been driving for hours and the day was starting to edge towards evening. Above them, the sky was overcast and it looked like it might rain, and Alex was hardly wearing the most practical outfit for trekking along a deserted highway in bad weather. He was dressed in grey fitted slacks that hugged his thighs, Gucci loafers, and a white shirt that he’d unbuttoned to below the collarbone. It was an outfit that in other circumstances Miles might have found quite distracting. Actually, it was still pretty distracting even now.

_Not as distracting as a pair of leather trousers would be_.

He blinked and gave himself a mental shake. Where the hell had that image sprung from?

He cleared his throat. “Right. Come on then, let’s go take a look.”

* * *

Alex felt his hopes rise as the blurry image on the road sign slowly resolved itself into that of a white telephone handset on a blue background. However, the hope didn’t last long.

“There’s no dial tone,” Miles said. “I think it’s busted.”

“Shit. We’re stranded then, aren’t we?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Miles said. “Unless yeh want to chance us walking further on, but there might not be a service station for ages.”

Alex cast his eyes around at the scenery. There was nothing except desert scrub, pine trees, empty sky and open space. “What are we supposed to do, then?”

“I dunno, man, maybe we’ll just hafta wait until someone else comes along.”

Alex grimaced. It could be ages before another car passed this way. What had possessed him to drive them all the way out here to begin with? Just another bad idea from his apparently bottomless bag of bad ideas.

“Right, well I’m goin’ into those trees for a slash,” he said. “Shout me if ya see any cars.”

Miles nodded at him, shoved his hands in his pockets and went to stand sentry at the side of the road.

Alex sighed inwardly and headed towards the scraggly edge of forest that lay just beyond the busted payphone. There was a half overgrown path that seemed to lead a bit further into the trees, so he followed it until the road behind him dropped out of sight. He found a scrubby bush that already looked half dead, relieved himself against it, and then turned around to head back.

It was then that he spotted it, stood in the shadow of a small clump of pines – another road sign. It was blue with white lettering just like the sign for the payphone, but unlike the payphone sign it was half overgrown with ivy and it looked old and rusty. Alex left the path and walked over to it. He brushed the ivy away so that he could read the words hidden beneath.

_Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino  
2 miles ---->_

Alex frowned in confusion. _A hotel, out here?_ It seemed unlikely. Why would anyone have built a hotel all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? And more to the point, why would they have left a sign for it in the middle of all these trees, where no one would even see it from the road?

He chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Perhaps the sign had been there for so long that the trees had simply grown up around it. It was the only explanation he could come up with – but it didn’t explain why there was a hotel out here in the first place.

The arrow on the sign was pointing to the path which led further into the forest. He frowned again, considering. If there really was a hotel up there, it was likely that they had a phone – and two miles really wasn’t such a long way to walk to find out. It was certainly a more attractive option than waiting by the side of an empty highway for help that might never come.

Alex dropped the ivy back down to cover the sign and he headed back towards the road. Miles was still standing there with his arms folded, looking up at the sky with a glum expression. Alex followed his friend’s gaze to the heavy-looking clouds that had begun to gather above them. The light seemed to be fading by the minute, and the wind had picked up too. It looked like there was a storm coming.

“Miles,” Alex said.

Miles turned round to look at him. “Yeah?”

“I know this is gonna sound weird, right, but there’s a sign back there for a hotel.”

Miles wrinkled his nose. “A hotel, all the way out here? Are yeh sure?”

“That’s what the sign says. There’s an arrow and a path leadin’ into the woods. I thought they might have a phone we could use – d’ya wanna chance it and take a walk?”

Miles looked back towards the deserted highway, then up at the brooding sky. “I guess we’d better had,” he said. “Before it starts chuckin’ it down.”

* * *

Everything seemed oddly quiet once they were walking beneath the trees. Miles could still hear the muffled sound of the wind rustling the leaves above their heads, but they were sheltered from the worst of it now. Unfortunately the canopy above them was also blocking out most of the remaining daylight, which meant that they were having to pick their way along the half-overgrown path with some care to avoid tripping on unseen roots or rocks. It didn’t look like anyone had used this path in a long time.

The further they walked, the denser and closer together the trees grew, and the air around them became more and more still. Soon, the only sounds were their own muted footsteps and the distant sigh of the wind. There was no rustling in the undergrowth, and no buzzing of insects. Miles couldn’t even hear any birdsong. It was as though everything around them had been smothered with a thick, heavy blanket.

“Are yeh sure the sign said it was only two miles?” Miles said, mainly to break the silence. “I feel like we’ve been walkin’ for ages.”

“I swear, that’s what it said. Let’s just keep going, it can’t be much further.”

“Yer shoes are gonna be ruined.”

Alex shrugged. “Fuck it, they’re only shoes. At least it’s not raining.”

No sooner had he spoken than Miles heard a low rumble of thunder. The gloom seemed to intensify, and next came the unmistakeable patter of raindrops on leaves. The trees above them began to drip steadily.

“Shit,” Alex said.

Miles sighed. “Come on, quick, before we get soaked,” he said. He grabbed Alex by the hand and tugged him, and the two of them broke into a stumbling run.

The thunder growled again, louder this time, and a few seconds later there was a distant flash of light followed soon after by another thundering crash. They kept running, but the storm seemed to be chasing them. Rain poured through the gaps in the foliage and in a few short minutes Miles was soaked to the skin. He glanced over at Alex and saw that his hair was plastered to his face and his white shirt was so wet that it was mostly see-through, and still the rain was coming down relentlessly. The earth beneath their feet began to churn into mud and it splattered their clothes as they ran.

“Where the fuck is this fuckin’ hotel, Alex?” Miles said.

“I don’t bloody know,” Alex snapped back. “The sign said it were this way, what d’ya want me to do? I can’t just conjure hotels out of thin air–”

Miles tripped over a root and nearly went flying, and Alex crashed into the back of him. They lurched forward another few steps, slipping and sliding in the mud. Miles flinched as lightning lit up the sky and he looked up to find that they were no longer under cover. They were on the edge of some sort of wide clearing that led downwards into a shallow valley, and at the bottom of the valley stood a huge, ramshackle building. It looked more like a Victorian gothic mansion than a hotel. It squatted there in a cluster of pointed rooves and arches as though hunched up to protect itself against the storm, and through the sheets of rain Miles could see that its walls were choked with ivy. There had to be at least a hundred windows, but all of them were dark. The place looked half abandoned.

Still, it was their only option now. Even if there was no one home, they could at least shelter under the eaves until the rain stopped.

Miles tugged on Alex’s hand. “Come on, before we get any wetter,” he said, but Alex didn’t move. Miles turned back to him, blinking rain out of his eyes. “What the hell’s the matter?”

He felt a ripple of shock as he caught sight of Alex’s expression. Alex had gone almost grey. He was gripping Miles’s hand so hard that it was starting to hurt.

Miles laid his other hand on Alex’s shoulder and gave him a shake. “Al?” he said. “What’s wrong? Look at me, please, yer scaring me.”

Alex began to shake his head. “No, it can’t be,” he whispered.

“What? What is it?”

Alex turned his gaze towards Miles, and his eyes were huge and dark. “It’s the building I told ya about,” he said hoarsely. “It’s the place I’ve been seein’ in me dreams.”


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was almost completely dark by the time they’d managed to scramble down to the bottom of the valley; it was as though the storm clouds had summoned the night ahead of schedule. Miles stood on the hotel porch and knocked on the heavy wooden door for a second time. He kept his arm wrapped tightly around Alex’s shoulders. The poor kid was shivering so hard, Miles could practically hear his teeth chattering. Miles gave him another squeeze. Alex responded by burying his face in the crook of Miles’s neck.

“Can’t we please just go back to the car?” he said.

“And do what?” Miles said. “We still need a phone, and besides it’s still pissing it down.”

“Don’t matter, m’not gonna get any wetter,” Alex muttered, and then he sneezed.

Miles shook his head. “I’m not lettin’ yeh go back out in the rain, yeh’ll end up with pneumonia or something.”

“I just think this is a really bad idea.”

“And I’m tellin’ yeh, it’s just a coincidence. So what if the building yeh dreamt about looked a bit like this one? Dreams are just dreams.”

Alex gave Miles a look of uncertainty, and then he flinched as the door in front of them creaked suddenly inwards.

A young woman stood in the doorway. She was holding a lantern in one hand, in which burned a single bright candle, and despite the chill evening air she was barefoot. Her hair fell about her face in a dark tangle of curls and she was wearing a dress made out of some sort of black, lacy fabric which clung suggestively to her curves.

She locked eyes immediately with Miles and her lips curved into a pointed smile. “Well, hi there,” she said. “Welcome to Tranquility Base Hotel.” Her eyes flitted down his body and then back up again before settling on his face.

Miles blinked, uncharacteristically lost for something to say. There was nothing at all subtle about the way this woman was currently sizing him up. Her dark eyes were intent and piercing, and her smile was so sharp it was like walking along the edge of a precipice; he was almost afraid to look away in case he stumbled from it and fell.

He let out a breath as she turned her gaze away towards Alex, and he saw her face grow sterner as she took in his friend’s appearance. “Oh darling,” she said, “You’re soaked. Come in at once before you catch your death.”

Miles felt Alex shiver beside him. He blinked again and managed to find his voice. “Thanks, love, we’d really appreciate that,” he said. “I think we got caught in the worst of it.”

“You poor things,” she said. She gave Miles another one of those sharp smiles. “Do come inside.”

Miles nodded and went to step forward over the threshold, but he still had one arm around Alex’s shoulders and Alex remained stubbornly motionless. Miles gave him a gentle tug. “Come on,” he said. “We’re only going in for a minute.”

The woman turned her dark eyes back towards Alex. “Come on in, sweetheart,” she said. “Let us take care of you.”

Alex looked down at his feet, and for a moment Miles thought that he was going to refuse the offer, but then he lifted his head and squared his shoulders, as if coming to a decision. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll come in. But only for a minute.”

The woman’s smile grew wider. She withdrew into the corridor behind her, and Miles followed, dragging a still reluctant Alex along with him. The heavy door thunked shut behind them and plunged them all into darkness. The only light came from the guttering candle of the woman’s lantern.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The storm’s knocked out our power, so we’re surviving on candlelight at the moment.”

“Not to worry, love,” Miles said. “Actually, we just need to use yer phone.”

“There’s a phone in the lobby, follow me.”

The woman led them up the dark corridor. Her clothes whispered softly as she moved and the bouncing lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls. It was too narrow to walk side by side, so Miles dropped his arm from Alex’s shoulders and took hold of his hand instead. Alex walked close behind him, his fingers curled around Miles’s in a death grip.

“D’ya hear that?” he whispered.

“Hear what?”

“That music. Someone’s playing the piano.”

Miles listened, but all he could hear was his own muffled steps on the thick carpet underfoot. He shook his head. “I don’t hear anything,” he said.

Alex tilted his head to one side. He looked uneasy. “You don’t?”

Miles shrugged. “Maybe it’s just the wind.”

“I know a piano when I hear one,” Alex said. His voice sounded petulant.

Miles didn’t reply. He still couldn’t hear anything, but he didn’t want to start an argument. They were both wet, cold, muddy and tired, and their tempers were already frayed enough without capping it all off with a pointless fight.

He turned back to their hostess instead. “Bit of an unusual place for a hotel, this,” he said.

The woman looked back at him over her shoulder. “I suppose it is,” she said.

“D’yeh get many guests all the way out here?”

“Not as many as we’d like,” she said. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome new faces.” She rolled the word _pleasure_ around on her tongue, stretching it out for longer than necessary.

“We’re not staying,” Alex muttered under his breath. “We’re just using the phone.”

Miles elbowed him. “I’m Miles by the way, and this is Alex,” he said to the woman.

The woman flicked her eyes briefly towards Alex, then back to Miles again. “I’m Arabella,” she said. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you both.” She stopped at the end of the corridor and pushed open a set of double doors. “Here we are – please go ahead.”

Miles stepped forward into a large, high-ceilinged room. It was dark just like the corridor, but there were candles flickering here and there on coffee tables and on the check-in desk, giving the whole place a soft romantic glow. The check-in desk itself was made of black and white swirled marble, and it was flanked on either side by what looked to be imitations of classical nude sculptures. Hanging just above them was an engraved wooden sign, bearing the words:

_Welcome to Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino  
Take it easy for a little while – come and stay with us!_

Stood in front of the desk was a large glass display case, and Miles walked over to it curiously. The case appeared to contain a scale model of the hotel carved out of thick white cardboard. The model seemed to be in far better condition than the hotel itself, but perhaps that was hardly surprising; it was amazing, really, that they’d managed to keep the place running at all, stuck as it was in this desolate location.

Alex finally let go of Miles’s hand. “There’s the phone,” he said. He marched straight across the room to the check-in desk, upon which was sat an old fashioned-looking telephone handset with a rotary dial. He picked up the receiver and held it up to his ear, but then his forehead creased in a frown. “There’s no dial tone.”

“The phone lines are down, I’m afraid,” said a low voice from behind Miles’s shoulder.

Miles jumped and spun around, and came face to face with… Alex.

His eyes went wide. His skin prickled into goose bumps.

“What… the fuck…?”

He began to back away fast. _That’s not Alex. That’s not him._ But the man standing in front of him looked so uncannily _like_ Alex that it was almost as if Alex’s own reflection had stepped right out of a mirror and become solid flesh. Miles turned to look at the real Alex, _his_ Alex, who was still stood at the check-in desk with the phone in his hand. Alex had gone a sickly shade of pale, and he was staring with a horrified expression at the stranger who was wearing his face.

The man who wasn’t Alex stared back, his brow wrinkling as he took in Alex’s appearance. Miles swept his eyes rapidly from one to the other. The two of them appeared at first glance to be identical. Alex’s double was dressed in a tailored white suit and he wore his hair slicked back in the exact same style as Alex’s own. He had the same widow’s peak, the same large brown eyes and sharp cheekbones, and the same petite frame. An untrained observer would’ve struggled to tell them apart. However, Miles was _not_ an untrained observer. He knew Alex’s face as well as he knew his own, and already he was picking out subtle differences. There was something in the curve of this doppelganger’s mouth which suggested a rakishness that Alex did not possess, and the man carried himself differently to Alex; his posture was more upright, more commanding, and as he began to cross the room towards them, Miles found himself automatically retreating further away. He backed up until he collided with the check-in desk, where Alex immediately seized hold of him and dug his fingers painfully into Miles’s arm.

The stranger with Alex’s face stopped a few feet away from them. “Well, this is a bizarre coincidence,” he said. He spoke in a low purring tone, and with a distinct Home Counties accent. He didn’t sound like Alex at all.

“Don’t come any closer,” Alex said. His grip on Miles’s arm tightened.

Miles straightened up and pushed himself slightly forward. “Who the hell are you?” he said.

“My name is Mark,” said the doppelganger. “I’m the manager of the hotel.” He paused and gave Alex another slow once-over with his eyes. “Please,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. This is strange for both of us, I’m sure.”

“It’s not strange, it’s fuckin’ impossible,” Alex said.

Mark lifted his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have said it was impossible,” he said. “Improbable perhaps, but they do say that everyone has a double somewhere in the world, don’t they?”

“Bullshit,” Alex said. “That’s just an urban myth.”

Mark shrugged. “And yet here we are,” he said.

There was a pause, and Miles watched as the two of them stared each other out. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mark’s face. Physically speaking, the resemblance between him and Alex remained uncanny, and yet the longer Miles stared at him, the less like Alex he seemed.

Miles swept his gaze again from one to the other. They were both exactly the same height, and yet Mark gave the impression of being somehow taller. Perhaps it was down to the way he was holding himself with such seeming self-assurance. He was still observing Alex with a curious expression but he maintained a respectful distance, and while there was something akin to a devilish twinkle in his eye, he no longer seemed exactly threatening.

Miles found himself taking a step forward and putting out his hand. “I’m Miles,” he said.

Mark turned towards him and gave him a slow, deliberate smile. He took Miles’s hand and shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Miles,” he said. “I’m truly sorry if I gave you a scare.”

“It’s alright, it’s not yer fault,” Miles said. “We’re a bit out of sorts anyway to be honest with yeh. It’s been one of them days, hasn’t it Al?”

Alex glowered and said nothing. His hair was still damp from the rain and it was beginning to dry into fluffy, unstyled tendrils. His Gucci shoes were caked with mud and so were his trousers. Miles’s outfit hadn’t fared much better, and Miles suddenly felt self-conscious about what a state he looked compared to Mark in his crisp, clean white suit.

“You do look like you’re having a rough day,” Mark said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Miles shook his head. “Fraid not, man, not unless yeh have a workin’ phone. We’ve broken down on the side of the highway and we’re stuck there unless we can call for a pick-up.”

Mark’s face brightened. “Oh, but that’s an easy fix,” he said. “You can both stay here for the night. I’m sure the phone lines will be back up in the morning, and you can make the call then.”

Miles opened his mouth to reply, but Alex was already shaking his head.

“No way, not stayin’ here,” Alex said. “M’gonna go back and sleep in the car.”

Miles let out a quiet groan. “Oh come on, Al, yer wet through, it’s dark, it’s still rainin’ – why don’t we just stay here, eh? It’ll only be for one night.”

“We can’t stay, what are we gonna do for clothes? All our stuff’s still in the car.”

“That’s another easy fix,” Mark said. “The hotel has robes that you can borrow, and I’ll see to it that all your wet clothes are laundered in the meantime.”

Alex just frowned and folded his arms.

Mark turned back towards Miles and smiled disarmingly. “How about if we also upgrade you to our penthouse suite for the same price as a standard room?” he said. “After all, it’s the least we can do after you trekked all the way out here in the rain to find us.”

Miles turned to face Alex. “Come on, man,” he said. “It’s not like we have much of a choice, is it?”

Alex said nothing. He was twitching his fingers restlessly against his sides while continuing to steal suspicious glances at Mark. Miles watched him and waited. Finally, after a long pause, Alex gave the tiniest shrug of acquiescence.

Miles breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “We’ll take the room, thanks mate,” he said to Mark.

Mark’s face split open in a grin. “Wonderful,” he said. “Arabella?”

Arabella appeared from out of the shadows. “Yes, sir?”

“Show these two gentlemen to their room, would you please?”

Miles raised his eyebrows as Arabella ducked a little curtsey to her boss.

“Of course, sir,” she said. Her smile had vanished and her skin shimmered strangely in the flickering light of her lantern. “Do come with me, boys,” she said. “I’ll show you the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone needs a headcanon for Mark's accent, listen to Alex's voice at the beginning of [this video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wa0py4GBW1w&feature=youtu.be) I imagined Mark's voice as a slightly deeper version of this :)


	6. Chapter 6

The penthouse suite was large and opulent, but the décor made Alex feel as though he’d accidentally wandered on to the set of a 1970s Italian horror film. Everything was red; the walls, the carpets, the soft furnishings. A huge four poster bed with crimson sheets and scarlet hanging drapes stood in the very centre of the room and dominated the space. Even the damn bathtub in the ensuite shower room was painted red.

Still, he could probably have lived with it. What he couldn’t live with were the ugly portraits which hung all over the walls – not just one or two, but more like twenty. They crowded the space, taking up every spare inch, and as he moved about the room he felt as though he was being watched by twenty pairs of painted eyes.

It didn’t help matters that he was now dressed only in boxers and a white bathrobe, his clothes and his shoes having been taken away to be cleaned. The bathrobe was large and comfortable and it covered him more than adequately, but the surrounding strangeness of his environment made him feel somewhat overly conscious of his own nakedness beneath it.

He looked over at Miles, who was stretched out on the bed in an identical outfit, but who seemed completely unperturbed. Miles had let his own robe fall partly open and his gold chain glinted softly in the dim light which emitted from the two lanterns that Arabella had left them with. Not flashlights, but fucking _lanterns_, as though they were living in the middle of the seventeenth century instead of in 2015.

He turned away from the bed to gaze out of the window, but there was nothing to see out there except for darkness. The storm was still rumbling across the sky, and the rain was taking turns in either pattering or slapping harshly against the glass. The only other sound was the mournful wail of the wind.

“Hey,” Miles said. “What are yeh looking at out there?”

Alex blinked away his thoughts. He turned back to look at Miles and shrugged. “Nowt, I guess.”

“Come over ‘ere and sit with me, then.”

Miles patted the space on the bed beside him. Alex sighed. He dragged himself away from the window and shuffled across the room, trying to ignore the unsettling stares he was getting from the portraits. He lay down on his side next to Miles and Miles turned over to face him.

Miles reached out and stroked Alex’s hair back from his forehead. “Tell me what’s botherin’ yeh,” he said.

Alex frowned. “What the fuck d’ya think’s botherin’ me?” he said. “We’re spending the night in the very place that I’ve been seein’ in me nightmares, and there’s a creepy bloke walkin’ around downstairs wearin’ me face.”

“He wasn’t that creepy,” Miles said. “He seemed like a pretty normal guy to me.”

“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if he were wearin’ _your_ face.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, it’s a bit weird. But it’s just a random coincidence, yeah? Like he said, there’s enough people in the world for something like this to be possible.”

Alex scowled. “You don’t really believe that rubbish he was spouting, do ya?”

Miles shrugged. “What else is there to believe?” he said.

Alex didn’t reply. He had no answers to give; all he had was a vague feeling of unease. He twirled the belt of his robe absently between his fingers, picking at a loose thread until it began to unravel.

Miles reached out and stilled him with a hand. “Hey,” he said. “Are yeh tired?”

Alex shrugged. “A little, maybe.” He glanced up and caught the look in Miles’s eyes. “M’alright though.”

Miles nodded. He tugged gently on Alex’s robe, loosening it, watching Alex’s face as he did so. Alex looked back at him, saying nothing.

“It’ll be alright, yeh know,” Miles said. He slid a hand inside Alex’s robe and stroked his fingers up the outside of Alex’s bare thigh. “We’ll call the rescue company in the morning and get a tow, and then we’ll go find a nice hotel with a spa, somewhere in town yeah?”

Alex nodded. “That sounds good,” he said. He swallowed as he felt Miles’s fingers move slowly from the outside of his thigh to the inside. “Listen, I’m sorry I brought us all the way out here.”

“It don’t matter, man. This time tomorrah, we’ll be settled down someplace with our guitars, havin’ a chill, and yeh’ll be writing again in no time – wait n’ see.”

Alex breathed out and let his eyes slip closed. Miles’s hand was warm, his grip firm and practiced. “Mmm… I hope so. Just want the record to… to be good, ya know?”

“It _will_ be good.” Miles said. “Yeh worry too much.”

“Yeah… I… I guess I do.” The bed creaked gently as Miles leaned closer. Alex arched his back and let out a soft sigh as Miles pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin on the underside of his jaw. The bed creaked again as Miles moved lower, and then neither of them spoke any more.

* * *

Alex opened his eyes to darkness and the feeling of his heart thumping in his chest. He sat up. For a moment he was disorientated, as he often was when he woke from a nightmare, but this time the disorientation did not fade. It was as though he’d awoken from one bad dream straight into another. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. He could make out the shapes of the furniture and the edges of the window frame. The wind had died down outside, and the only sound in the room was Miles’s soft breathing as he slept. 

That, and the piano. He could hear it again, coming from somewhere outside the room. He reached over to the nightstand to check his watch and blinked hazily at the time. _Who the hell is playing the piano at three o’clock in the morning?_

He sat still, listening to the notes as they floated out of the dark. He didn’t recognise the song, but it sounded vaguely familiar nonetheless. He lifted the blankets carefully so as not to disturb Miles, and then padded softly across the room to the door. He pulled it open and stuck his head out into the corridor to listen. The notes were clearer out here than in the bedroom and they pricked against the darkness like tiny motes of light. The music seemed to be coming from downstairs, but he was sure that he’d seen no piano in the hotel lobby. Which room was it coming from then?

Alex hesitated on the threshold. He glanced back into the room, at Miles’s sleeping form in the bed. He ought to go back to sleep, that’s what he _ought_ to do. The bed was warm, and comfortable, and safe. There was no reason for him to go wandering about in the dark in an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night, all by himself. That was clearly a stupid idea.

He looked back out into the corridor. The piano had taken on a melancholy tone, the notes rising and falling within a minor key. The sound was both sad and beautiful. It filled his chest with a vague unnamed longing, and curiosity slowly began to overcome his more sensible notions.

He tiptoed back into the bedroom, put on his robe and relit one of the lanterns with Miles’s cigarette lighter. He shielded the light with his body, peeked once more at Miles to check that he was still asleep, and then crept out into the corridor, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The flickering flame of the candle had ruined his night vision, and the corridor was full of such a thick and treacly darkness that he could almost feel it clinging to his skin. He could still hear the sad lullaby of the piano echoing out of the silence, and he began to take careful steps towards the source of the sound. The thick pile of the carpet felt soft, spongey and not particularly pleasant between his toes. He regretted allowing Arabella to take away his shoes.

He walked on further and began to notice that the walls to either side of him were hung with more of the same ugly portraits that adorned the walls of his and Miles’s room. Their eyes seemed to mark his progress as he passed them, and his skin prickled as that unsettling feeling of being watched slowly crept over him once again.

The breath of a draft whispered across the back of his neck and he shivered. He stopped and turned to look back the way he had come.

The corridor behind him was dark and empty.

He shook his head at himself and turned forward again, lifting the lantern a little higher. It was just an old drafty building, that was all.

He reached the top of the stairs that led down to the lobby and he hesitated there, holding on to the wooden bannister. It was like looking down into a well. The light of the lantern didn’t stretch far enough for him to see all the way to the bottom. He would have to make his way down slowly, step by step.

_Or, you could just go back to bed and stop this stupidity right now._

The tinkling of the piano keys grew slightly louder. The melody now sounded vaguely discordant to his ears. Some of the notes seemed as though they’d been deliberately mistuned to a semitone below where they ought to have been. He shivered again. It was far too cold to be walking around a drafty hotel in the middle of the night, let alone barefoot and wearing just a bathrobe. He really ought to go back to the room; back to Miles and the safety of their warm bed.

Instead, he stepped down on to the first stair, first with one foot, then the other. He held on to the bannister and paused again to listen. The mournful music continued unabated.

He stepped down again, then again, holding the lantern out in front of him like a shield. As he descended further, he could feel the darkness pooling around him, lapping at his feet, swallowing him up.

On the tenth step, the lantern gave a sudden sputter and so did his heart. He stopped stock still, his eyes fixed on the flame. The candle flickered, once, twice, but it did not go out.

_Christ’s sakes._ He let out a careful breath and continued his descent, more slowly this time. The thought of being plunged into complete and total blackness had set his heart racing. He began to sweat a little, despite the cold.

It took a while, but eventually he reached the bottom of the stairs. To his left were the double doors which led on to the hotel lobby, but it was clear now that the sound was not coming from there. It was coming from somewhere further down the hallway.

He crept forward, the sound of the piano growing louder with each step, until he came to a door with the words _Tranquility Base Casino_ engraved in ornate lettering on the front. He drew his robe around himself a little more tightly, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was huge. He could sense the space more than he could see it; it expanded away from him in all directions and disappeared into the shadows. The place was not completely dark, however; from where he stood by the door he could see the edge of a raised plinth, and it was from here that another source of light emanated, as well as the sound of the discordant piano. Blocking his way was a silent army of slot machines, their faces empty and lifeless.

He drew in a breath and began to pick a path through the machines. As he did so, the plinth came fully into view, and with it the source of the strange music. Illuminated in the glow of an oil lamp stood a dilapidated looking Steinway, and sat at it with her back to him was a woman. She was dressed all in white, and her hair was so light as to be almost colourless. It hung down her back in a smooth wave. He couldn’t see her face, only her pale fingers as she tapped away at the keys. The sad melody floated out across the quiet room and tugged at his heart. The jarring notes seemed to be an integral part of it somehow; not a mistake after all, but a subliminal chorus which was essential to the completeness of the whole.

He approached the plinth, set the lantern down and cleared his throat quietly so as not to startle her. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. Her fingers went completely still and the notes died away into nothing. Silence rushed in to fill the void.

He hesitated for a few seconds, but she didn’t move or speak. “Erm… I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please don’t stop on my account.”

She remained facing forward, the tips of her fingers resting on the keys. He waited, but she didn’t play. Nor did she turn around. The silence between them grew thicker.

He cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll– I’ll leave ya alone.” He turned away to go.

There was a rustle of fabric behind him. “You shouldn’t have come here, Alex,” she said.

He turned back again. She still sat facing away from him, her face hidden behind that curtain of white-blond hair. “How d’ya know my name?” he said.

The woman didn’t answer. She moved to one side and left an empty space on the bench beside her.

“Sit,” she said.

“I’m alright standing actually–”

“_Sit_.”

The word echoed in his head and his feet seemed to move on their own. He walked up to the piano and took a seat on the bench. The woman didn’t look at him. She stayed stiff and immobile and they sat without speaking. All of a sudden, he wanted very badly to leave.

The piano bench gave a creak and he became aware that she was slowly turning to face him. He didn’t look up. He fidgeted with his robe and stared fixedly at his hands. He could feel her eyes as they swept over his face like searchlights.

He heard her intake of breath when she opened her mouth.

“Play something,” she said. Her voice was low and had a musical cadence, but just like the piano it sounded somehow off-key.

He hesitated. “I, erm… I’m not really much of a–”

“You’re a musician, are you not?”

“Yes, I am but–”

“Then _play_.”

His fingers twitched, unable to ignore the imperative, and he lowered his hands to the keys. He began to improvise a basic melody over a four chord pattern. It was nothing he couldn’t ordinarily have done had he been alone in the studio, but with her eyes on him he found that his fingers faltered and stumbled. He could feel her bristling at his side. He still didn’t dare to look into her face. Neither did he quite dare to stop playing. The discordant instrument groaned unhappily beneath his clumsy fingering.

“_Enough_,” she said finally.

He stopped. “I’m– I’m sorry, I’m normally better–”

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Her tone was full of contempt. He was unpleasantly reminded of the childhood piano teacher who had chastised him for not practicing his scales. This woman was like a more nightmarish version of that teacher. Her posture beside him remained rigid and she radiated judgement like a toxic cloud. He watched as her long fingers moved to rest upon the keys. The air in the room seemed to grow suddenly colder.

“Look at me, Alex,” she said.

He didn’t move. His limbs felt numb. Dread had wound its way around his throat like a noose and it was becoming hard to breathe.

“_Look at me_.”

Once again his body moved on its own, unable to resist the command. His breath came only in shallow gulps as he turned his head to look.

Her face was like a mask. Her skin had the same poreless, waxy texture as the skin of a doll, and it was as white as the rest of her. She had no distinctive features save for dark brows and dark painted lips… except, that was, for her eyes.

Her eyes were the only spot of colour in that doll-like face. They were neither brown nor blue but some strange pattern of both, and he couldn't look away from them. Their expression made his heart shrink.

“Who– who are you?” he managed.

“I am Annalise,” she said.

“You’re… a guest here?”

She leaned towards him and he recoiled, suddenly afraid that she was about to strike him. “There are no guests here,” she said.

“But… it’s a hotel–”

She shook her head. “You need to _leave_ this place. Take your friend and get out. Do you hear me?”

“We can’t leave till tomorrow. Our car, it’s broken down, it’s–”

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Please, I don’t understand.”

Annalise leaned further forwards. For a second she just looked at him, but then she raised her hand and before he could flinch backwards, she pressed her fingers to his forehead. He froze at once. Her touch felt so wrong, her skin cold and almost plastic, but he couldn’t move away. His limbs had turned heavy. He felt weighed down by gravity.

“This is a warning, Alex,” she said. “Whatever you do, just stay away from him.”

He tried to speak, to ask her, who, who should he stay away from? But his tongue was frozen to the roof of his mouth and that noose of dread was tightening round his throat. He felt like he was sinking, as though a black whirlpool had opened beneath him and was dragging him down.

“Please,” he managed to say. “Please, who are you... really?”

Her eyes remained cold. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

The whirlpool surged around his chest and now he was drowning. He struggled for air but only swallowed more darkness. It was filling his lungs and pooling behind his eyes. He made a grab for the piano but his hands closed over nothing. The darkness grew deeper and took a hold of his senses, and then it swallowed him up.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Do you want me?”_

_Miles moaned as Alex pressed up close against his back. “Christ… please–”_

_Alex leant down and placed his lips next to Miles’s ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”_

_Miles shuddered. He was aching, dripping with sweat, his desire so intense that he was barely able to speak. Nor could he move; his hands were bound and his face pushed into the pillows. The solid weight of Alex’s body on top of him pinned him in place, and he could do nothing but writhe helplessly as Alex continued to thrust in and out with his fingers, teasing and toying, never quite giving Miles what he needed._

_Miles groaned incoherently as he felt the hard length of Alex’s cock pushing up against him._

_“Fucking say it, Miles,” Alex said. “I want to hear it.”_

_Miles whined. His whole body was trembling. “Oh god, Alex, please, I need you to fuck me… please… I need you, please–”_

* * *

Miles jolted awake. He sat upright and stared around in bewilderment, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. Grey daylight seeped in from the edges of the curtains. The room was quiet but for the steady beating of the rain against the window, and the fragments of his dream were like a slowly fading echo in the still air. Miles shook his head in an attempt to clear it. _Fucking hell. I’m sure I’ve never dreamt about him like that before._

He looked automatically towards Alex’s side of the bed, but there was nothing there except for empty space. Alex had disappeared and left him to wake up alone, just like he always did.

Miles’s heart rate began to slow, his adrenaline giving way to a familiar sinking feeling of disappointment.

_Why does he do this? Why can’t he just stay?_

Obviously it had been naïve of him to think that being away from home would really change anything between the two of them. Alex clearly didn’t want anything to change. Whatever it was that he wanted from Miles, it was becoming more and more apparent that he only wanted it under cover of darkness, never in the revealing light of day.

And as for what Miles himself wanted… well, it scarcely mattered. He could hardly broach the subject of his own wants and needs when Alex wouldn’t even acknowledge the reality of their relationship. Whatever desires he might have held for himself where Alex was concerned would just have to stay buried; he was already in far too deep with his feelings as it was. If he didn’t hold back, he would be in for a whole world of hurt when Alex inevitably decided to call time on this ill-defined, unnamed thing between them.

_Man, that was an intense dream though. _Miles shivered and realised that he was half drenched with sweat. He pushed the bed covers aside, got up and went into the ensuite bathroom. He turned on the shower and ran it for a few minutes, but when he stuck his hand under the water it was still cold. _That probably means the power’s still out._

He groused under his breath but stepped gingerly into the bathtub anyway; all things considered, perhaps a cold shower wasn’t the worst idea right now.

He washed as quickly as possible in the freezing water, and then got dressed again in the bathrobe seeing as he still didn’t have any other clothes. He sat down on the bed and pulled out his phone, but the signal was still non-existent. His stomach began to rumble, and he sighed. Alex was still AWOL and there didn’t seem to be much point in waiting around for him any longer, so Miles pocketed his phone and the room key, and went in search of breakfast.

* * *

The hotel was strangely quiet as Miles made his way downstairs, and when he eventually located the door marked _Dining Room _and went inside, there was no one else in there but him. The room was set out with a large number of tables and chairs, all of which were empty, and there was a long counter to one side which was laden with a buffet style breakfast of various cereals, bread rolls and fruit. The weak morning light filtered in almost reluctantly through the tall narrow windows, and it did little to alleviate the gloom. The weather was still bucketing it down out there, and he could see the tops of the trees bending and shivering in the wind.

He went over to the buffet and helped himself to food and coffee, and then he took a seat at one of the empty tables. He sliced open a bread roll, buttered it and took a bite. The sound of his own chewing seemed too loud in the silent room. He cast another quick look around. This was weird. Where were all the other guests? More to the point, where was Alex? It felt as though he was the only person awake in the whole hotel, which seemed unlikely given the fact that it was almost eleven o’clock in the morning.

He took another bite of the bread roll and chewed it slowly. The wind gusted against the windows with a low moan, making them rattle. It was such a lonely, desolate sound. It made him think of cold, empty beaches in the middle of winter. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to come and stay out here. There shouldn’t even _be_ a hotel out here. He stopped chewing for a moment and listened, but there was still nothing to hear apart from the rain and the wind. He swallowed. Perhaps he ought to forget about breakfast and go and look for Alex…

The door creaked open behind him and he jumped. He twisted round and his eyes immediately landed on Alex’s familiar features. _Thank fuck for that._ He breathed out a small sigh of relief, and he was about to say something snarky about being forced to go for breakfast all by himself, when he suddenly realised that it _wasn’t_ Alex who’d just come in through the door at all. It was Mark. He was dressed just as before in a crisp white suit, matching white shirt and polished black dress shoes, and his dark hair was swept back neatly from his face.

“Good morning, Miles,” he said, and his lips twitched into a tiny smile. “I trust you slept well?”

Miles wrapped his hands a little tighter around his mug and took a careful sip of his coffee. “Yeah, pretty well, thanks,” he said.

Mark nodded towards one of the empty chairs. “Would it be okay if I joined you?”

Miles shrugged. “I suppose so.” He watched as Mark wandered over to the buffet and poured himself a black coffee. It was very difficult not to stare. How the hell was it possible for two completely unrelated people to look so much alike? Reasonable explanation or not, it was more than a little unsettling. He forced himself to look away as Mark walked back over and drew up a chair beside him.

“I hope the room was to your satisfaction,” he said.

Miles nodded. “It was perfect, thanks.”

Mark sipped his coffee. “And is your partner still asleep?”

Miles coughed. “He’s not my… I mean– we’re just–”

Mark held up a hand to stop him. “That’s all right, you don’t need to explain,” he said. “I can see how it is with the two of you.”

Miles looked at him cautiously. “Yeh can?”

Mark sipped his coffee again and shrugged. “I’m quite good at reading the power dynamics in people’s relationships,” he said. “It’s a gift of mine.”

“That’s… an interestin’ gift.”

Mark regarded him over the edge of his coffee mug. “Yes, it can be.”

There was a pause. Miles rubbed a hand through his hair and debated whether or not to ask his next question. His curiosity was piqued, but he’d never spoken about his relationship with Alex to anyone else before, and he didn’t know Mark from Adam. Still, it was disconcertingly easy to forget that the guy was a complete stranger; every time Miles looked at him, all he saw was the face of his closest and dearest friend. He took another sip of coffee, hesitating and dithering over what to say.

In the end Mark spoke first. “You’d like to know what I see between you?” he said.

Miles put down his mug and leaned forward a little. He gave a small wordless nod.

Mark gave him a flat smile. “Obviously, I only met you yesterday,” he said. “But I’d say it’s certainly an interesting interplay that the two of you have.” He paused and gave Miles a considered look.

Miles looked away. “How’s that?” he said.

“Well, on the one hand his body language towards you is generally quite docile, but then on the other hand it’s clear from the way you act around him that he holds a lot of power over you. Of course, I could tell straight away that the two of you were lovers; however, my impression is that you’re perhaps not getting everything that you want from the relationship. Would I be correct in thinking that?”

Miles frowned into his coffee mug. “I suppose… that’s not entirely inaccurate,” he said. He tried to push away a sudden rising feeling of irritation. _Who the hell is this guy to make judgements about me and Al anyway? It’s none of his damn business._

“I’ve upset you,” Mark said, after a pause.

“No, no,” Miles said. “I just– I’m not used to havin’ me close relationships analysed by strangers, tha’s all. Anyway, it’s not like how yeh said. Alex doesn’t have power over me.”

Mark gazed back levelly. “I’m sure you’re aware that there’s more to power than physicality or strength,” he said. “In my personal opinion, the power that we each possess is directly correlated to how much control we have over our own fears.” Mark leaned forward, rested his chin on his hand and gave Miles a penetrating look. “Tell me, Miles,” he said. “Is there something that you’re afraid of?”

Miles said nothing. His mind had gone oddly blank. There was something unusual in Mark’s gaze, something that he couldn’t quite place. He frowned. _It’s his eyes, that’s what it is. There’s something wrong with his eyes._

“What…?” Miles said. He couldn’t quite manage to get out the sentence. He made a vague gesture to his own eyes in the hopes of being understood.

Mark blinked and then smiled languidly. “Ah, you noticed,” he said. “It’s called heterochromia, caused by variations in the concentration of melanin. It’s genetic in my case, but it does me no harm. Look closer, if you like.”

Mark leaned further forward and lifted his chin towards the light, and now Miles could see the irregular patches of sky blue in his dark brown irises. Curiously, he shifted a little nearer. The effect of the two mismatched colours was actually quite attractive, although strange. Perhaps that was the reason that Mark’s eyes seemed so odd.

Miles frowned once again. _But_ _is that really it?_

Mark lowered the angle of his head and met Miles’s gaze with a direct stare. Miles sat back in a hurry.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Mark said.

“What question?”

Mark's lips curved upwards. “What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

Mark’s smile grew crooked and vaguely insinuating. Miles was pretty sure that Alex had never smiled at him like that. It was unnerving and yet fascinating to see such a suggestive expression on what was essentially Alex’s face.

“Everyone’s afraid of something, Miles,” Mark said.

Miles said nothing.

Mark continued to smile. He ran a finger idly around the rim of his coffee mug. “Do you know what the opposite of fear is?” he said.

Miles shook his head dumbly.

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “The opposite of fear is desire,” he said. “It’s important to understand what it is you fear, otherwise you can never know what it is that you truly desire.” He took another slow sip of his coffee and then set the empty mug down on the table. “Would you like a refill?”

Miles blinked. “What? Oh. No I… I think I better go look for Al, actually. He was awake before me and I’m not sure where he’s got to so…”

Mark nodded and then stood. “In that case, I expect you’ll be wanting your clothes,” he said. “I’ll have them sent up to your room.”

“Thanks.”

“Not at all,” Mark said. “After all, what kind of host would I be if I made my guests walk around all day only half dressed?” His lips twitched with the ghost of that insinuating smile.

Miles smiled back, a tad uncertainly. “I guess that would depend on the type of establishment you were runnin’,” he said.

Mark gave a low throaty chuckle. “Quite,” he said, and then he closed one eye in a wink. Miles felt his stomach do a tiny somersault. Alex had certainly never _winked_ at him before.

Mark turned towards the door. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your breakfast,” he said. “If I see your friend on my rounds, I’ll be sure to tell him that you’re looking for him.”

Miles nodded. “Thanks,” he said again.

Mark gave him one final studied look, then turned and walked briskly from the room.

Miles stared perplexedly after him for some minutes. His coffee mug sat on the table untouched, the contents beginning to grow cold.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex awoke to the sensation of something warm and soft and moist lapping at his fingers. He snatched back his hand and scrambled to sit up. For a second he had no idea where he was, but then he saw the piano beside him, and the quiet slot machines standing guard like sentries, and he remembered that he was in the casino. He looked around, but there was no sign of the strange woman from last night.

There was, however, a large dog. It sat mutely at his feet, staring up at him fixedly, its tongue occasionally lolling from its mouth. It was a stocky looking animal with pointed ears and a face covered in dark brown fur; the rest of its barrel-like body was white, and around its neck was a thick studded leather collar.

Alex inched slightly forward on the piano bench. “Hi, boy,” he said. “Who do you belong to, then?”

The dog regarded him watchfully and licked its chops. Alex started to reach out to give it a gentle scratch behind the ears, but then something stopped him. He frowned and pulled his hand back again. There was a strange intelligence in the dog’s eyes that he didn’t much like. He wiped his hand on his robe instead.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Sigmund,” said a voice.

Alex jerked his head up with a start and saw _him_, that creepy fucking lookalike, crossing the expanse of garishly patterned carpet towards him. He folded his arms and shifted backwards on the piano bench, knocking his elbow accidentally into the piano keys as he did so. He flinched at the discordant sound that rang out across the room.

The lookalike – _Mark_, or whatever his name was – stepped up on to the plinth, and then reached down to pet the dog. “Has he been bothering you?” he said. “I’m afraid that he does like to flirt with the guests.”

Alex shook his head slowly. “No, he don’t bother me,” he said. He gave Mark a wary look. _It’s you who bothers me._

Mark gave him a measured smile. “Are you a musician?” he said. “I apologise for the state of our piano, I’m afraid it’s a little out of tune.”

Alex shrugged. “I play guitar mostly.”

“That’s one more thing we have in common then,” Mark said. He continued to scratch idly at the fur between the dog’s ears and the dog let out a yawn.

Alex narrowed his eyes. “You play too?”

“Indeed. I’m a member of the hotel’s house band – or at least, they suffer me to play with them. We’re performing in the main bar this evening, if you’d like to come and watch us?”

Alex shook his head again. “Thanks, but me an’ Miles need to get going. M’gonna get on the phone to the tow company, and then we’ll be out your hair.”

“Ah, yes, about that…” Mark’s smile faded a little. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I tested the phone lines this morning and I’m afraid they’re still down. It’s possible they might be fixed later on this afternoon, but if not then it’s likely to be tomorrow.”

Alex’s heart plummeted. The idea of staying another night in this horrible fucking hotel was almost too much to bear. He didn’t want to spend one more second sleeping in that red-painted room with all those creepy-eyed portraits staring down at him. He bit back a curse. He was suddenly conscious of how much his back was hurting from having slept hunched up over the piano. His whole body was aching, in fact. How the hell had he managed to fall asleep down here anyway?

Mark was looking at him with a concerned expression. “It’s Alex, isn’t it?” he said.

Alex nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”

“Well, Alex, I can’t do much about the phone lines, unfortunately, but I do have something else that might brighten your mood. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

He offered his hand to help Alex up. Alex didn’t take it. He stared at it as though it were a snake.

Mark withdrew his hand and instead flashed a smile. “Come on,” he said. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

Alex hesitated a moment longer, but then grudgingly got to his feet. “Alright,” he said. “What is it ya want to show me?”

* * *

Alex followed Mark at a slight distance back to the lobby, where Mark ushered him into an ancient-looking lift complete with antiquated, cage style metal doors. It clanked and juddered alarmingly as it rose upwards, making Alex instantly regret his decision to climb inside. He ended up holding his breath for most of the way to the fifth floor, and he let it out with a sigh when Mark finally pulled open the doors and stepped out. Alex followed him down a dim corridor, turning left and then right, until they reached a door marked with the number 521. Mark withdrew an old fashioned looking key from his pocket, unlocked the door and held it open.

“After you,” he said.

Alex gave Mark a dubious glance and then stepped cautiously over the threshold. The room was much brighter than the casino downstairs had been, thanks to the huge arched windows that flanked one wall. Even the ivy which crept over the outer edges of the window frames did little to obscure the daylight. The view gave on to the forest below, which seemed to stretch out for miles. There was no sign of any roads, nor any other evidence of civilisation, but Alex paid only brief notice to that as his attention was quickly caught by the contents of the room. Hung all over the walls, and leaning in stands all over the floor, were guitars – probably close to twenty or thirty of them. And not only guitars, but mandolins, banjos, violins, dulcimers – even a harp.

Alex whistled under his breath. “Christ, that’s a lot of instruments,” he said.

Mark chuckled. “I’m somewhat of a stringed instrument aficionado,” he said. “This is my own private collection – I like to come here to practice and unwind whenever I’m not working.”

“Can ya really play all of these?”

“Some better than others, but yes, I think it’s fair to say that I can.”

Alex ran his fingers lightly across the strings of the harp and the notes rang out in a shimmer. “That’s… impressive,” he said.

“At the risk of seeming self-indulgent, perhaps you’d like to hear me play something?” Mark said.

Alex hesitated, but curiosity was quickly taking the place of caution. “Be my guest,” he said. He seated himself on the leather bench seat which stood in front of the window and watched as Mark picked up a bright red acoustic guitar and slung it around his neck.

“This is just something that I composed recently,” he said. He moved the fingers of his left hand into position over the fretboard and began to play.

Alex immediately felt a shiver run over his skin. The music pouring out of the guitar was unlike any sound he had ever heard before. It was weightless, floating, almost ethereal. He stared as Mark’s fingers danced over the strings; he barely touched them, and yet each touch was like the chiming of a bell. Alex’s head began to fill with pictures. He saw a moonlit beach lit with silvery starlight; a spider’s web hung with dewdrops like tiny beads of glass; a pattern of ice crystals upon a frozen lake. Each image was as sharp as a photograph in his mind’s eye. He began to feel almost as if he was floating, lost in the beautiful illusions created by the music which surrounded him.

It was not until the last of the notes faded gently into the air that the pictures began to dissolve, and then reality swam softly back into focus. He opened his eyes to find Mark watching him with a faint smile. The room seemed very quiet now that the music had stopped.

Alex cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard a guitar sound like that before,” he said.

“It's not just the instrument, Alex,” Mark said. “It’s the way you play it.” His fingers brushed over the curve of the guitar’s body with a soft swishing sound.

Alex reached out a hand. “May I?”

Mark unhitched the guitar from his neck and held it out. “Of course.”

Alex took it from him and slung the strap around his own neck. He plucked experimentally at the strings, improvising a short melody. He frowned. The sound that projected from the body of the guitar was no different than any of his own guitars at home; there was no bell-like chime, no ethereal quality to the tone as there had been before.

Mark took a seat on the bench beside him. “Try closing your eyes,” he said.

Alex gave him a sideways look. “What for?”

“It helps to focus your mind on what you want from the music. You can’t force it. It’s about connecting with a deeper part of yourself and allowing those deeper feelings to come to the surface.”

“No offence,” Alex said, “but that sounds like New Age wank to me.”

Mark smiled. “Trust me,” he said.

_No chance_, Alex thought. But he closed his eyes anyway and began to pluck once more at the strings.

“That’s better,” Mark said, a little too close to his ear. “Now picture in your mind what it is that you want. Imagine it there in front of you, and play the notes that you feel.”

Alex frowned but he tried to do as instructed. The fingers of his right hand tripped gently over the strings, while his left moved restlessly up and down the fretboard. He tried to think about what it was that he wanted, but his mind was drawing a blank. The guitar still sounded just like any other guitar.

“Try this,” Mark said, and suddenly Alex felt the press of warm fingers against his forehead. Mark began to tap gently at the space just between Alex’s eyebrows and Alex’s eyes flew open. He opened his mouth to tell Mark to keep his bloody hands to himself, but then all at once his head was flooded with images.

He inhaled sharply, and his eyes sank shut again of their own accord. He saw pictures of himself standing on a stage in front of a screaming crowd, him with his guitar and the enthralled eyes of all those watching, and then he saw pictures of his own desk at home, piled high with sheet music that was filled from edge to edge with his own untidy handwriting. The images flitted through his mind in blurred succession and the feeling attached to them was one of blazing triumph, of success, of a satisfaction so intense that it made his whole body tingle.

And then he heard the sound of the guitar begin to change beneath his fingers. The tone became one of insistent, vibrating urgency – not bell-like as before, but driving and powerful, and yet still imbued with that same ethereal quality that spread shivers across his arms and up and down his back.

The feeling grew more intense. His skin began to burn beneath the gentle tapping of Mark’s fingers. He stopped playing and pulled away with a gasp, his eyes flickering open once more.

“What the fuck was that?” he said.

“Relax,” Mark said.

“Don’t tell me to relax, what the fuck did you just do?”

“I just stimulated your pineal gland to help you focus.”

“My _what_?”

“It’s the gland in your brain which controls your sleeping patterns… and some say your dreams. Think of it as a kind of gateway to the unconscious.”

Alex rubbed his fingers roughly over his forehead. The skin between his eyebrows felt ever so slightly warm to the touch. “What the hell does that have to do with playing the guitar?” he said.

Mark’s mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “It has nothing to do with playing the guitar,” he said. “But it has everything to do with creating music.”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Never mind just now,” Mark said. “It’s a complex subject that would take me some time to explain, and I’m afraid I need to get back to work.” He stood up and dug in his pocket, then pulled out the key he had used to unlock the door. “Take this,” he said. “I have a spare. I’d like you to feel free to use this room as long as you’re staying with us.”

Alex looked at the key in Mark’s outstretched palm and hesitated. “Why?” he said.

“Please,” Mark said. “I can’t bear to see a musician without his instrument. I want you to feel at ease here.”

Alex frowned, but he reached out gingerly and took the key.

Mark smiled. “I’d like to reiterate my invitation for you and your friend to join us in the bar this evening,” he said. “Dinner is at seven, and the house band will be playing from eight thirty. If you’d like to talk further, you can come and find me afterwards.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alex muttered. He rubbed at his forehead again. He felt like he was beginning to get a headache.

Mark nodded. “I must attend to the needs of the hotel,” he said. “But please stay and play for as long as you wish.”

“Yeah… thanks,” Alex said.

Mark’s smile sharpened into a grin. “Not at all, Alex,” he said. He gave a final curt nod, then turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door partially closed behind him.

Alex sat still for a moment. He heard the fading of Mark’s footsteps down the corridor, but he listened for a few seconds longer to make sure that Mark was truly gone. When he could hear nothing but silence, he lowered his fingers cautiously to the strings of the red guitar in his lap and plucked out a simple arpeggio. Nothing happened. The instrument sounded just like an ordinary guitar once again.

Alex shivered. He was cold and tired and hungry, and sick of wearing a bathrobe instead of proper clothes. He looked at his watch and saw with shock that it was almost one in the afternoon. He stood up and set the guitar back in its stand, stepped back out into the corridor and locked the door hurriedly behind him. Miles was probably wondering where on earth he was. He shoved the key deep down into his pocket and set off back to their room.


	9. Chapter 9

When Alex got back to the room, he found Miles sprawled out on the bed with a book, dressed once more in his usual clothes. Miles looked up the instant that Alex entered, folded down the corner of the page he was reading and snapped the book shut.

“Where the hell have yeh been?” he said. “I looked all over for yeh.”

“Sorry,” Alex said. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Miles seemed pissed off, but knowing him he was probably just worried. Alex felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach. He knew that he’d given Miles more than his fair share to worry about over the last few weeks.

“What have yeh been doin’ all this time?” Miles said.

“I… uh… I fell asleep downstairs.”

Miles gave him a hard stare. “Yeh slept downstairs? What was wrong with the bed?”

Alex glanced away. “Nowt was wrong with the bed, man. I just woke up in the middle of the night and I heard that piano again, so I went to check it out, that’s all.”

“Someone was playin’ the piano in the middle of the night?” Miles said. He sounded sceptical.

“Yeah, it was a woman. She said her name were Annalise. I think– I think I was playing the piano too for a bit. And then we talked...” Alex faltered, suddenly uneasy. What exactly had they talked about? He couldn’t quite recall now, but something told him that it’d been important.

“And then what?” Miles said, interrupting his thoughts. “Yeh just fell asleep?”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t really remember, but I guess I must’ve done.”

Miles shifted on to his side. He gave Alex one more dubious look, but then his expression softened. “Are yeh sure yeh weren’t just sleep walkin’ again?”

“I weren’t,” Alex said, but he frowned. The idea that he might have been dreaming hadn’t actually occurred to him. Now that he thought about it, the whole experience did seem pretty surreal. If it’d all been a dream though, why did he feel like he’d been awake for half the bloody night? He rubbed a hand roughly across his face and yawned. His eyes felt like they were full of sand.

“Yeh look fuckin’ knackered,” Miles said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeh need to get some _rest_, man – yeh can’t keep doin’ this to yerself, it’s not healthy. Why don’t yeh lie down and have a nap?”

Alex shook his head. “No point. Can’t sleep in this bloody place.”

Miles sighed. “Come ‘ere,” he said. “Lie down next to me.”

Alex hesitated for a second, but then he padded over to the bed and lay down on his side. He went very still as he felt Miles scoot up close behind him, but all Miles did was drape one arm loosely around his waist. They lay there for a few moments without speaking, and then Miles began gently stroking his hair.

“Is this okay?” Miles said.

Alex didn’t reply. The sensation of Miles’s fingers in his hair was sending tingles all the way down his spine… and to other places too. He pushed the feeling away. He and Miles had never fooled around during the daytime before. Not properly anyway. Not since that second week when he’d made the mistake of spontaneously kissing Miles in the kitchen, and had nearly opened up a whole dangerous can of worms in the process. He’d quickly realised that any daylight tomfoolery brought with it the highly increased risk of awkward conversation, and uncomfortable questions, such as “_what are we doing?”_ and “_where is this going?”_ and “_what does this all mean, Alex?” _

At night it wasn’t so much of an issue; they just fucked and then fell asleep. It was better that way. Every time Miles tried to bring up the topic of their relationship in conversation, it filled Alex with a vague formless panic. He wasn't even remotely ready to think about the answers to Miles's difficult questions. He was still afraid that holding their relationship beneath a spotlight, or trying to slap a label on it, would simply cause the whole thing to evaporate into the ether. Likewise, he was still haunted by the feeling that he'd somehow pushed Miles into this whole mess to begin with, and he was afraid of pushing him further still.

His brain tormented him with nightmare scenarios. What if, by opening up to Miles about his feelings, he somehow influenced him? What if he, however subconsciously, willed Miles into doing something that Miles didn't actually want to do?

It sounded crazy, he knew it did... but a lot of crazy things had happened lately. Miles might not believe him, but he was all but convinced that this hotel was the same one that he'd seen in his nightmares. He'd dreamt about it every night for weeks, until it was as familiar to him as his own house, and now here it was, a reality. He couldn't help but toy with the idea that he'd somehow imagined it into being, just as he'd somehow imagined this new physical intimacy between himself and Miles.

_You're losing the plot, you know that right?_

It was true, he was. His tentative grip on reality seemed to be growing weaker by the day. If he wasn't conjuring hotels out of thin air, he was playing piano duets with strange pale women in the middle of the night – and fuck knows what his earlier encounter with Mark and his weird room of musical instruments had been about. It was just another in a long line of recent surreal experiences. He let out a quiet sigh. Maybe Miles was right... maybe he _was_ just imagining it all.

_And yet_, his brain whispered. _And yet here you are, here in this hotel, with Miles's arms wrapped around you, and doesn't it all feel pretty fucking real?_

Miles gave him a gentle squeeze just at that moment, as if to remind Alex that he was still there.

"Al?" he said.

“Mmm?”

“Are we ever gonna talk about this?”

“What?”

“Yeh know what,” Miles said. “Are we ever gonna talk about me and you?”

Alex grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. _I knew this would happen._ “M’tired, Miles,” he said.

Miles sighed. “I know yeh are, but–”

“Did ya know that the phone lines are still out because of the storm? Mark said we might have to stay here another night.”

“Yeah, I heard. Stop tryin’ to change the subject.”

Alex half buried his face in the pillow. “He’s invited us to go see his band tonight in the bar. Ya wanna go? My treat.”

Miles sighed again, more heavily this time. “If yeh wanna go, we can go,” he said. “But I thought yeh didn’t like Mark very much.”

Alex shrugged. “It’s summat to do though, innit?”

“Suppose so.”

Miles continued to stroke Alex’s hair, and Alex did his best to ignore the desire that was gradually building in the pit of his stomach. There was something in the way Miles touched him that just drove him crazy, and not in the way he was used to. Miles seemed to bring something out in him, some darker desire that he'd never realised was there. He’d never thought of himself as someone who was particularly experimental in bed, but sometimes he had thoughts of the things that he'd like to do to Miles, and they were vivid enough to make him blush. He’d never acted on them, of course. He’d stuck to his plan of letting Miles take the lead in the bedroom, lest he accidentally push Miles in an unwilling direction. However, if he was being truly honest with himself, perhaps his reticence was less to do with the fear of his own supernatural powers of influence and more to do with the fact that he was simply afraid of how Miles might react.

Miles was his best friend. They’d known each other for a very, very long time, and in theory that should have made it easier for him be open about his, perhaps, slightly less vanilla desires – but instead it just seemed to make it harder. There was too much at stake, not only this fragile new connection that they shared, but their friendship too. He’d coped with a lot of things in his life up until this point, but he couldn’t cope with losing Miles.

It was bad enough that he felt like their new intimate relationship was some kind of dirty trick on his part; like he’d somehow bewitched Miles into bed, and then kissed him completely insane. It wasn’t right that he should try to push his kinky fantasies on to Miles as well. Miles deserved better. He deserved everything good and pure in the world… but sadly what he’d ended up with instead was Alex.

Alex sighed inwardly. He didn’t know how to begin to reverse the strange spell that he’d apparently cast over the two of them, but in any case it was way too late. He’d gotten himself in too far and too deep, and what had started out as a brief moment of temptation had turned into far more than that.

Miles pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his neck and made him shiver. He could feel the pulse of his own heartbeat in his temples, and it mingled with the insistent rhythm of the rain which was beating out a repetitive pattern against the window. He forced himself to lie still as Miles pressed another tiny kiss to his left earlobe.

“Al?” Miles said.

“Mmm?”

“We’re gonna have to talk about this sometime, yeh know.”

Alex buried his face in the pillow again. “M’really sleepy, Miles…”

Miles huffed. “Well, I guess maybe I should just leave yeh alone to sleep then.”

Alex felt the bed shift as Miles began to move away from him, and he made a grab for Miles’s arm. “No, stay.”

“Why should I?” Miles said.

Alex tightened his grip. “Please?” he whispered.

Miles let out a frustrated sounding sigh, but he rolled over and hooked his arm back around Alex’s waist. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

Alex interlaced their fingers and brought Miles’s hand up to lie against his chest. “Thank you,” he said.

He heard Miles sigh again and the sound made his heart hurt, but there was nothing he could do or say to make things any better. He ached to just turn over, to take Miles in his arms and kiss him senseless… but he couldn’t. The guilt lay too heavy in his chest.

Instead, he exhaled quietly and tilted himself back against Miles’s body. Miles responded by shifting closer and pulling him into such a tight embrace that it almost took his breath away. He raised Miles’s hand to his lips and kissed him softly on the knuckles, and he heard Miles sigh once more against his ear. His thoughts started to drift as Miles’s body heat began to lull him towards unconsciousness, and fragmented memories started to float through his mind in a hazy stream; sometimes there were images of vast concert halls and cheering crowds, or images of bright red guitars and pages and pages of sheet music… but mostly, he just saw images of Miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mad Girl's Love Song](http://www.neuroticpoets.com/plath/poem/madgirl/) by Sylvia Plath (poem referenced in this chapter).


	10. Chapter 10

It was shortly after eight o’clock that evening when the power finally came back on. The two of them were sat alone in the dining room eating cold food by candlelight when the electric chandelier above them suddenly hummed into life, and a moment later Miles heard the growing murmur of voices and distant laughter coming from somewhere out in the corridor.

The door creaked open and groups of people, most of them dressed in evening wear, began to file into the room. Amongst the newcomers were half a dozen men wearing tuxedos, and several women dripping with expensive looking jewellery; there was a gaggle of party girls all wearing gold lipstick and matching black fishnets, and there were several people dressed in more serious looking business attire but who nonetheless were chattering noisily and laughing amongst themselves. One by one, the newly arrived guests began helping themselves to the buffet and taking up seats at the nearby empty tables.

Alex had stopped eating and was staring around the room with a bewildered expression. “Where the hell did all these people come from?” he said.

Miles shrugged. “Maybe they only just checked in.”

“What, all of them?”

Miles shrugged again. Certainly it was a little odd that the hotel had abruptly sprung into life after having seemed completely empty up until this point, but he didn’t particularly want to be drawn into a debate about it. He didn’t particularly want to be drawn into a debate about anything. Perhaps he was just being petty, but he was feeling sorely tempted to give Alex the cold shoulder all evening; at least then, Alex might actually be forced to acknowledge the fact that Miles was upset with him.

He glanced up at Alex, and then quietly pushed the idea away. Passive aggressive behaviour wasn’t really his style, and besides, the effort was likely to be wasted. Alex was clearly too wrapped up in his own dark cloud of introspection to notice anything about how Miles was feeling.

“I never spotted all them little TVs everywhere before,” Alex said.

“What TVs?” Miles turned around to look, and sure enough there were several old-fashioned looking television monitors dotted here and there around the room. The return of the electricity had caused them to fizz into life, and now each screen was displaying a different random image. One was tuned to the picture of a grand stately home, while another showed some kind of long winding corridor with bright orange walls. There was a third which seemed to show the Earth rising slowly above the grey, cratered horizon of the moon; the planet was a distant sphere of bluish green in an otherwise black and starry sky.

“It’s weird why the pictures don’t change,” Alex said.

Miles looked closer. The pictures on the screens were indeed static and unmoving. They looked more like CCTV footage than normal television. He frowned. “Maybe they’re set to one of them channels that just plays relaxing images all the time?” he said.

“Maybe,” Alex said. He didn’t sound very convinced.

The general hubbub around them increased in volume. Miles watched as Alex continued to push his food around on his plate without eating it. He looked as exhausted as ever, despite his nap. Miles sighed. He reached out and gently tapped Alex on the wrist. “Hey,” he said. “It’s getting pretty crowded in here, d’ya wanna go find a quiet corner of the bar to set up camp in?”

Alex nodded without looking up. “Yeah, okay.”

“C’mon then, let’s go.”

* * *

The bar turned out to be nearly as crowded as the dining room, but Miles managed to bag them a small private booth just opposite the stage where the house band were already busy setting up their equipment. He glanced around, but there was no sign of Mark. He did however spot Arabella flitting from table to table with a tray of flute glasses full of what looked to be champagne. Her smile was as sharp as ever, and he found himself ducking further into the booth in the hopes that she wouldn’t see them.

Fortunately, the room was very poorly lit – perhaps purposefully so. The lights had a reddish tint to them which seemed to emphasise rather than dispel the shadows, and the only really bright areas were the bar itself and the stage. The band’s instruments were all painted a gaudy pillar-box red which stood out even redder under the spotlights, and Miles spotted more of those strange retro-looking television sets left seemingly haphazardly all over the floor.

Alex had huddled as far as he could into the corner of the booth, his feet tucked up under him for warmth. He was barefoot, as apparently the hotel staff were still trying to salvage what was left of his Gucci loafers. Naturally he’d left the house without any socks on, again.

He looked up at Miles with a somewhat vacant expression. “Ya want me to go grab us some beers?” he said.

“No, you stay here,” said Miles. “I’ll go get the first round in.”

Alex gave a slight nod and then turned his eyes back towards the stage.

Miles weaved his way through the crowd towards the bar and took his place in the queue to be served. He stole another quick glance around the room as he waited, but he still couldn’t see Mark anywhere. The TV set nearest to him was displaying a live stream of the house band as they moved about the stage; all the garish red instruments were duplicated in miniature and looked almost like toys on the small screen. He guessed that the band were somehow trying to both record and broadcast their performance, but the number of TV sets they’d apparently employed for the purpose seemed a little excessive.

“What can I get you, sir?”

Miles refocused his attention and turned back to the bar, where he found himself face to face with possibly the most ridiculously attractive man that he’d ever seen in his life. Words like _chiselled_ and _rugged_ darted through his mind, but seemed to fall short of describing the Adonis that stood there waiting to serve him. The bartender was tall, tanned and muscular, and his eyes were a hypnotically shimmering blue. Miles couldn’t help but give him a quick, subtle once-over. _Too bad the guy has absolutely no idea how to dress_, he thought. _Who the hell wears a t-shirt with a tie? _

“Just a couple of lagers, please mate – whatever yeh’ve got on tap.”

The bartender smiled with perfect white teeth. “Coming right up,” he said.

Miles nodded, then turned his gaze back towards the stage while he waited. His eyes locked on to a familiar figure standing in between the keyboard and the drum kit, with a bright red guitar slung casually over one shoulder. _Alex? No… not Alex… Mark._

Mark was elegantly dressed in a dark suit and a muted yellow shirt with white collar and buttons. His hair was smoothed back with not one strand out of place, and he moved about the stage like he owned it, adjusting wires, twiddling knobs, and making tiny micro-alterations to each piece of equipment that he came across. _He’s a perfectionist_, Miles thought, _just like Al_.

He watched as Mark bent down to one of the small TV sets on the floor and tapped at some buttons; for a few seconds Mark looked intently at whatever was displayed on the screen, and then his lips twisted into a smile. He looked up, and his gaze travelled straight to where Miles was stood at the corner of the bar. Their eyes met and Miles felt a sudden jolt of embarrassment, like he’d been caught out somehow. Mark’s smile grew wider. He gave Miles a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and then he turned away once more to focus on his equipment.

“Excuse me, sir? Your drinks?”

Miles blinked and snapped his attention back to the bartender. “Right, yeah,” he said. "Cheers, mate.”

“My pleasure,” the bartender said. He stole a quick glance towards the stage, and then he looked back at Miles and shot him a knowing grin.

Miles didn’t grin back. He picked up the pint glasses and retreated swiftly back across the room to the booth. Alex was there waiting, his bare feet still tucked up beneath him and his hair dishevelled from having repeatedly run his fingers through it – a nervous tic he had whenever he was feeling out of sorts.

“You okay?” Miles said.

Alex barely took his eyes off the stage. “M’fine,” he said.

Miles sighed, sat down beside him, and took a deep swig of his beer. He wished he’d ordered something stronger – but then again, perhaps it was just as well that he hadn’t. His patience with Alex was more than a little stretched, and if he let himself get drunk, he’d probably only wind up saying something that he’d later regret.

His efforts to distract himself from his thoughts were proving fruitless, and he kept returning over and over to the conversation they’d had in their room, and to the fact that Alex had blown him off _yet again_ when he’d tried to raise the delicate subject of their relationship. He was sick of it. He was sick of not knowing where he stood. He was sick of pretending that things between them were exactly the same as they’d always been. Why wouldn’t Alex just _talk_ to him?

He glanced over at Alex again, but his face was like an impenetrable fortress; he’d been practically monosyllabic ever since he’d woken up. It was like he was deliberately trying to shut Miles out by making himself as difficult to read as possible, as if he somehow blamed Miles for all the awkwardness between them.

_Well, fuck that._ Miles wasn’t about to shoulder all the responsibility for Alex’s grim mood – all he’d wanted was some basic acknowledgement of the fact that this thing between them was real, that the two of them were more than just friends, but Alex seemed determined not to give him that, and he couldn’t help but speculate as to why that might be. The most likely reason was that Alex was already losing interest in the relationship. Perhaps he was simply waiting until their trip was finished to tell Miles the truth; that all along this thing had only been a casual affair, and now it was over.

Miles took another swig of beer and swallowed hard. The idea that Alex might want to end things between them felt like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach – but even if it were true, it would still be preferable to the continuous doubt of not knowing. He’d rather know the truth, and have the whole thing over and done with, than go on being trapped in this no man’s land of mixed messages and constant ambiguity. It was starting to drive him crazy.

He turned his attention back towards the stage. A whole day without any TV or internet had left him desperate for any form of entertainment to take his mind off his unhappy and uncomfortable thoughts, and so he fixed his eyes on the band, and on Mark, who had just stepped up to the mic. Mark looked out at the audience, and the chatter in the bar immediately died down to a low hum. Everyone in the room turned expectantly towards the stage. The drummer counted out four beats, and then Mark’s right hand plunged downwards to strike the strings of the guitar.

Music flowed out into the room in a wave, and Miles’s mind became quieter. He began to nod along, tapping his fingers to the familiar 4/4 rhythm. The music was a typical blend of strings, keys and drums, and yet, as he listened, it seemed that there was something faintly unusual about it. The instruments created a soundscape that was complex, detailed and strangely impenetrable, almost as if the music were merely floating on the surface of some other sound that he couldn’t quite hear.

He focused for a moment, trying to decipher it, but then his attention scattered as Mark began to sing. He blinked as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Mark’s voice was a low, resonant purr that seemed to vibrate with subtle harmonics, as though it too was layered to conceal some other voice beneath. Miles had no idea how he was doing it, but Mark sounded almost like he was singing a harmony with himself. The effect was as compelling as it was disconcerting and Miles found himself leaning further forwards in his seat to listen.

He noticed that everyone else in the vicinity had assumed similar postures of rapt attention, and all eyes were on the stage. It was a pretty incredible feat. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a singer hold an audience so entirely in their power before. Not even Alex could command a room in the way that Mark was doing right at that moment. Miles glanced surreptitiously to his side and saw that Alex too seemed completely enthralled by the performance; he was staring glassy-eyed at the stage as though hypnotised, his brown eyes wide and captivated.

After a while, Miles gave him a little nudge. “Mark’s pretty good, eh?” he said.

Alex blinked. He turned to give Miles a side-eyed look. “He’s alright, I s’pose.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “If yeh really dislike ‘im that much, why’d yeh wanna come watch ‘im?”

Alex made a face. “I didn’t,” he said. “Like I said, it were summat to do. Besides, I was curious about his guitar. He let me have a little go on it earlier, and I wanted to hear him play it live, that’s all.”

Miles turned abruptly away from the stage. “Hang on a minute,” he said. “When were you an’ Mark hangin’ out together?”

“We weren’t hangin’ out, he were just showin’ me his instruments. He’s got a whole room full of ‘em upstairs. Guitars, violins, ukuleles, harps–”

“But when I asked where yeh were earlier, yeh said you were sleepin’ downstairs.”

“I was, but–”

“I looked everywhere for yeh. Why didn’t yeh tell me you were playin’ guitar with Mark?”

Alex glanced away. He looked down into his pint glass and chewed on his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” he said. “Must’ve forgot.”

“Yeh _forgot_?”

“It weren’t a big deal, man, really. Let’s just watch the band, yeah?”

Alex turned his attention back towards the stage. Miles folded his arms and turned away as well. He sat still and tense. The band continued to play, but the music had lost any power to penetrate his thoughts. Alex was hiding something from him. He could always tell when Alex was lying; his lips would twitch in a certain way and he would refuse to make eye contact when he was talking. But why would he feel the need to lie about the fact that he’d been hanging out with Mark? He didn’t even _like_ the guy.

Miles swallowed. Unhappy thoughts were beginning to spiral in his brain.

_Maybe he’s just that tired of your company that he’d rather go play guitar with a guy he hates than have to wake up next to you in the morning. _

_Maybe he lied because he couldn’t quite bring himself to say that to your face._

Miles gave himself a mental shake. He was being ridiculous. Alex wasn’t tired of his company – Alex was his _best friend_. Or at least, they had been best friends until all this other stuff had started between them… or rather, until _Miles_ had started it. Because it was his fault, really, wasn’t it? It was him who’d kissed Alex first, not the other way around. Maybe Alex had never wanted any of this in the first place.

Miles frowned. _No, that can’t be true_. After that first night, it’d been _Alex_ who’d started crawling into Miles’s bed whenever Miles was staying over in the guest room. It had been _Alex_ who’d lain there beside him, pressed deliberately close, breathing hotly against Miles’s neck and ghosting his fingers over the gooseflesh on Miles’s bare arms, until Miles couldn’t stand the tension anymore. Surely they were both equally responsible for this mess they were now in – even if Miles had been the one to start it, Alex had most definitely been the one to continue it.

So why the hell was Alex acting so fucking strange?

Miles sighed inwardly. His thoughts were going in circles again. He would achieve nothing with this line of thinking except for driving himself mad.

He reached for his pint, and then realised it was empty.

Alex turned around at that moment and saw him holding the empty glass. “Want another?” he said. “M’gonna go get another round in.”

“I can go if yeh want,” said Miles.

“Nah, it’s my turn, innit?” Alex uncurled himself from his hunched position and picked up the empties. “Back in a bit,” he said.

“Yeah… sure.”

Alex stood up and strode off in the direction of the bar. Miles stared after him, pointlessly.


	11. Chapter 11

Alex waited in the queue to be served. He kept his eyes on Mark. His doppelganger still stood centre stage beneath the spotlights, plucking his eerie melodies out on that obnoxiously red guitar and singing with that strange, haunting voice. It was like listening to one of those records which reveal a hidden message when played backwards; he could almost hear it in the silences and the gaps – the secret, suppressed words lying just beneath the surface… but he couldn’t understand it.

Watching Mark perform was more than a little weird. It was like having some kind of out of body experience. He felt as though he was in two places at once; both up on the stage and simultaneously down amongst the crowd, watching himself sing.

_Is that what I look like when I’m up there?_

It was hard not to wonder. It was harder still not to draw unfavourable comparisons. He was loath to admit it, but Mark _was_ good. The man exuded a bottomless confidence and charisma, and he clearly knew his way around a fretboard – and as for his voice… his voice was something else.

Alex turned and peered through the crowd, back towards the booth. He could see Miles sat staring intently at the stage with his chin cupped in his hand, completely absorbed in the performance. Miles obviously thought that Mark was pretty good too.

Alex frowned and turned back towards the bar.

He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t just told Miles straight out about Mark and his instruments in room 521. Perhaps it was because he’d known that Miles was unlikely to believe him about what’d happened. He still wasn’t sure exactly what _had_ happened. He just knew that he wanted to push the whole weird experience as far back in his mind as possible. Every now and then, it kept trying to resurface. He kept imagining that he could still feel the firm press of Mark’s fingers against his forehead, and the strange heat that the touch had left behind.

The music slowed and then came to a stop, and he glanced back towards the stage in time to see Mark and the rest of the band setting down their instruments. Perhaps they’d decided it was time for an intermission. The chatter in the room quickly rose in volume to fill the gap left by the silence.

Alex moved to the front of the queue and laid his hands down on the bar. “Two pints of Budweiser, please mate,” he said.

The bartender turned around to face him and Alex felt his eyes widen. The man was insanely attractive, all blue-eyed, tousle-haired and dimpled, but he was also strangely familiar somehow, in a way that Alex couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Excuse me,” he said. “But have we met before?” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He’d meant the question genuinely enough, but it’d come out sounding like a cheesy pick-up line.

The bartender gave Alex a wide grin. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But maybe we ought to. I’m Brian.”

“Brian?” Alex said. He cast his eyes over the bartender’s outfit, his charming smile, and his pretty, symmetrical features. No wonder the guy seemed familiar. He might easily have stepped straight out of Alex’s own imagination. Alex narrowed his eyes. “Is your name really Brian, or are ya just havin’ me on?” he said.

Brian leaned forward on his elbows. “That’s my real name,” he said. “But just between you and me, you can call me anything you want.” He smiled and gave Alex a wink.

Alex felt the heat rush to his face. “I… uh… just the two beers’ll be right, thanks mate.”

Brian straightened up and obediently began pulling the pints, but he kept smiling at Alex. “Whatever you say, sir,” he said. “I aim to please.”

Alex suddenly became intensely interested in staring at his own fingernails. He could feel his face growing even warmer and his shirt felt too itchy and too tight. He fidgeted awkwardly while he waited for his drinks and he tried to pretend that he was somewhere else.

* * *

Miles glared in the direction of the bar, feeling his stomach clench. That cute bartender had just _winked_ at Alex. The guy was leaning right over into Alex’s personal space, and their hands were practically touching across the wooden surface of the bar. He could only see the back of Alex’s head from where he was sat, but the bartender’s face said it all – it was obvious even from this distance that Alex was flirting with him._ Does he think that I can’t see him from all the way over here or something? Or maybe he thinks I’m stupid as well as blind._

Miles scowled and looked away. His last thread of patience had just snapped. It was one thing for Alex to keep ignoring him when he wanted to talk, but it was quite another for Alex to openly flirt with other blokes right under his nose. The signs were pretty obvious – Alex was clearly moving on from the relationship and leaving him behind, just as he’d predicted would happen. He just hadn’t thought it would happen quite so soon. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a couple of deep breaths. He wouldn’t give Alex the gratification of seeing how upset he was.

“Good evening, Miles.”

Miles jumped. He turned round to find Mark standing at his elbow, looking as elegant as ever. “Oh,” he said. “Alright, Mark?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Mark said. “I hope you’ve been enjoying the music?”

Miles nodded. “Yeah, man, you guys are great. I was proper impressed with yer singing, like.”

Mark smiled. “You’re very kind,” he said. He looked at Miles and a slight crease appeared in his forehead. “Is there something wrong?”

Miles swallowed. “No, there’s nuffin wrong. I’m fine.”

“Miles, please. I can see that you’re upset. Maybe it’s none of my business, but if you need a listening ear…”

Miles forced himself to look up at Mark, but all he could see was Alex’s familiar face looking back at him. He swallowed again. “I appreciate that, man,” he said. “But it’s kinda hard to explain right now.”

Mark glanced briefly in the direction of the bar, where Alex was still stood chatting to the bartender. His features contracted into a look of sympathy and he reached out and gave Miles’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I think I understand,” he said. “Come and find me later, perhaps, if you’d like to talk.”

Miles managed a weak smile. “Thanks,” he said.

Mark gave a slight nod, and then, unexpectedly, he reached out and brushed his knuckles against Miles’s cheek. Miles blinked at the oddly intimate gesture, but before he could say anything, Mark had turned and was walking away. Miles found himself staring vaguely after him until he’d disappeared amongst the crowd.

* * *

Alex paid for the drinks, studiously avoiding Brian’s gaze as he did so. The man was clearly getting a kick out of how flustered he was. It was stupid, really – it was hardly as if this was the first time he’d ever been hit on in a bar. Still, there was something about Brian’s directness, coupled with his blatantly willing subservience, which had tipped Alex strangely off balance.

He picked up the glasses, mumbled a polite thanks, and turned back in the direction of the booth. He’d only gone a couple of steps when he looked up, and stopped short. He could see Miles through the crowd, and Miles was no longer alone. Mark was standing there next to him. He was resting his hand lightly on Miles’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Miles was just staring up at him with a strange, sad, love-struck expression on his face. Alex frowned. _Why is Miles looking at him like that?_

It was at that moment that Mark reached out and gently stroked his fingers across Miles’s cheek.

Alex felt his chest constrict. The realisation hit him like a punch to the throat. What an idiot he’d been not to see this coming. Of _course_ Miles would be interested in Mark. Why wouldn’t he be? Aside from the physical resemblance to Alex, Mark was confident, and suave, and assertive – and clearly he wasn’t afraid to go after what he wanted. That, after all, was probably what Miles liked best about him.

Alex’s vision blurred at the edges. _It’s your own fault. You should have talked to Miles while you had the chance. _

Yeah, right, except what could he have said? How could he have explained to Miles what had really happened between them?

Perhaps it was better that Miles never found out the truth. Perhaps, after all, Miles would be far better off with someone like Mark than he ever would be with Alex.

Alex sucked in a breath and clamped his lips together. He would not allow himself to get upset. But he couldn’t stay down here with Miles any longer; not surrounded by all these people.

He waited until Mark had vanished into the crowd, and then he made his way back over to the booth. Miles didn’t look up as he thumped the glasses down on the table, splashing beer against the wooden surface.

“You can have both of these,” Alex said. “M’goin’ to bed. I don’t feel well.”

Miles did look up at him then, but his expression was unreadable. “If yeh wanna go, then go,” he said. “I’m stayin’ here for a bit.”

Alex inhaled sharply. He’d expected an argument, or at least some questions, but apparently Miles couldn’t wait to be rid of his company. “Okay, then,” he said. “G’night.”

“G’night,” Miles echoed. He turned his face back towards the stage where the band were picking up their instruments again.

Alex’s eyes stung with tears as he turned and walked slowly away from the table.

* * *

Miles sat alone in the booth. The band had finished playing half an hour ago, but he still had no motivation to get up and go to bed. He’d decided to get drunk after all, in lieu of Alex’s company, and now he was half way through his fifth pint of Budweiser and feeling increasingly sorry for himself.

He was just starting to weigh up the pros and cons of getting one more drink before the bar closed for the night, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. A shot of whisky appeared on the table in front of him as if by magic, closely followed by the bottle.

“Is it okay if I join you?”

Miles nodded somewhat blearily as Mark sat down opposite him. Mark’s cheeks were a little flushed after having finished his performance, and his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction.

“Yeh played a good show,” Miles said. He picked up the whisky and downed it. “Cheers for the drink.”

Mark’s face settled into the same sympathetic expression as earlier. “I’m guessing your friend decided to call it a night?”

“Yep. He went to bed a couple of hours ago.”

Mark produced a second glass from somewhere about his person and poured out two more shots of whisky. He passed one over to Miles. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Miles shook his head. “No, not really.” He picked up the shot glass and downed the contents once again. His head swam a little and he blinked. Chasing beer with whisky was never a good idea, but he only ever seemed to remember that after the fact.

Mark topped up the glasses again. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself instead then?”

Miles shrugged. “Not much to tell, mate. I’m a musician, like, same as yerself. I was in a band for a while, and then I kinda started doin’ me own thing, and now me an’ Al are tryin’ to resurrect this musical project we ‘ad when we were younger – but it’s not goin’ so well as yeh’ve probably guessed…”

Mark nodded. “I could sense a certain tension,” he said. “I thought it might be down to your complicated relationship.”

“It’s not really that,” Miles said. “It’s more just the fact that Al’s got writer’s block. He’s been drivin’ ‘imself, and me, up the wall tryin’ to write this damn record. I feel like packin’ it all in right about now, to be honest.”

“That does sound frustrating. Have you any idea what’s causing his writer's block?”

Miles shook his head. “Beats me, man,” he said. “I mean, he’s had it before but I’ve never known ‘im to be this bad. Normally he manages to work it out, but this time I think ‘is insomnia’s just gotten so bad that he can’t even function any more. He’s startin’ to worry me, actually.” He picked up his whisky and took another swig. “I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ yeh this.”

Mark smiled. “Nothing you say will leave this room,” he said.

Miles nodded. “Well, he’s been sayin’ all these crazy things. Like, he’s convinced that he’s seen this ‘ere hotel in a dream he had. And he’s been gettin’ up in the night, sleep walkin’ to god knows where. Earlier today he told me he’d been up since the small hours playin’ piano with some bird called Annalise, but he must’ve been dreamin’ right? I mean, who plays the piano in the middle of the night?”

Mark started coughing on his whisky.

Miles looked up. “You okay?”

Mark shook his head. “I’m alright, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m sorry, but did you say Annalise?”

“Yeah, why? That name mean somethin’ to yeh?”

Mark shook his head again, more slowly this time. “No,” he said. “No, not anymore.”

Miles peered at Mark through his haze of alcohol. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Mark looked like he’d gone kind of pale, and his hand seemed to shake a little as he poured himself another shot.

“Can I ask who she is?” Miles said.

Mark smiled then, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You can ask,” he said. “Annalise was my sister. I’m sad to say she’s no longer with us, but I’m curious to know how your friend came across her name.”

Miles tapped thoughtfully at his lower lip. “Maybe he picked it up subconsciously somehow. Is her name or her picture on display anywhere in the hotel?”

“Perhaps,” Mark said. He downed his shot of whisky. “Yes,” he said more quietly. “Yes, I suppose that’s possible.”

“I’m… erm… sorry for yer loss, like.”

Mark’s face brightened. “Please, don’t be,” he said. “It was a long time ago.” He topped up Miles’s glass again. “How long has Alex been having trouble sleeping?”

Miles shrugged. “I dunno, really. I only really noticed he was havin’ nightmares when we started… you know.” He coughed and took another shot. The alcohol burned his throat on the way down.

Mark was giving him a speculative look. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said.

Miles nodded carefully. He was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

Mark held his glass loosely between his thumb and forefinger, swishing the contents idly round and round. “Where exactly do you see your relationship with Alex heading, in the long run?” he said.

Miles blinked. “Wow,” he said. “That _is_ a pretty personal question.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Miles said. He paused. “In all honesty, man, I don’t even know what the answer is. Al’s me best mate, I never figured we’d be anythin’ more than that. I mean, fair enough I thought about it sometimes, but… I don’t know.”

Mark said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for Miles to continue.

Miles picked up the bottle and poured himself another shot. “I just thought it’d be easier than this,” he said, eventually. “I thought that if it ever came down to me an’ him, then we’d just– we’d make it work, yeh know? I never thought it’d be this complicated.” He shook his head. “I guess I must’ve fucked up somewhere.”

“What makes you think that?” Mark said.

“I just… I feel like maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I just misread the situation, and he was never really that into it. I don’t fuckin’ know.” Miles let out a frustrated sigh and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I mean, one minute he’s kissin’ me, the next he’s pushin’ me away or ignorin’ me – it’s like he don’t know what he wants half the time, and I’m just supposed to read his bloody mind.”

“What about what _you_ want, Miles?”

Miles swallowed his whisky and immediately poured himself another. “Whaddya mean?”

Mark leaned forward on his elbows. “Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe Alex just isn’t capable of giving you what you want?” he said.

Miles snorted. “Yer talkin’ like yeh’ve got a better idea about what I want than I do,” he said. “Come on then, let’s ‘ave it.”

“I think,” Mark said, “That you want to let go of all this fear you’re carrying around with you. I think that you want someone to take care of you.” He leaned closer and gently took hold of Miles’s jaw, lifting it so that Miles was forced to look him in the eye. “I think,” he said, “That you want to stop trying to control everything, and let someone else bear that burden for a change.”

Miles kept very still. His head was beginning to spin a little, and Mark’s fingers felt very warm against his face. “Oh yeah?” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

Miles swallowed. “Yeh know what,” he said. “I think I might’ve had a bit too much to drink.” As though _that_ wasn’t the fucking understatement of the century. He could hear himself slurring his words as he spoke and he was having trouble focusing on Alex’s… on _Mark’s_ face.

Mark smiled. He released Miles’s jaw and his fingers brushed ever so briefly over Miles’s throat as he did so. Miles shivered as some instinctive urge uncurled in the base of his stomach; some impulse that was trying to fight its way to the surface, lured upwards by the hook of Mark’s insinuating smile.

“Perhaps you should get some sleep,” Mark said. “But if, at some point, you decide you’d like to continue this conversation, you can find me in room 507. There’s a spare key behind the check-in desk. I’m happy for you to let yourself in and wait, if ever I’m not there.”

Miles felt his cheeks growing warm. The expression on Mark’s face was impossible to decipher. _Is he saying what I think he’s saying, or am I just drunk out of my fucking mind?_

“I… erm… I’m gonna get to bed then,” he said. “Thanks for the whisky… an’ all that.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mark said. “It was a pleasure sharing a drink with you. I do hope you sleep well.”

Miles nodded and got unsteadily to his feet. “Right,” he said. “G’night then.”

Mark tilted his head to one side and his smile became crooked. “Sweet dreams, Miles,” he said.

* * *

It took Miles longer than he expected to get back up to the room. He was swaying as he walked down the corridor and the world seemed to be spinning needlessly fast on its axis.

He closed the hotel room door behind him with exaggerated carefulness, undressed clumsily, and crawled as quietly as possible into his side of the bed so as not to wake Alex. For once, Alex seemed to be completely unconscious and he didn’t appear to be dreaming. Miles lay still and listened to the soft sound of his friend’s breathing. He slowly stretched out a hand until he could feel the warmth emanating from Alex’s body as it radiated against his fingertips, but he didn’t touch.

He lay in the dark, staring at nothing. Mark’s words kept dancing round and round in his head, just like the alcohol circulating round and round in his blood stream. His head whirled dizzily, and his body felt awash with an unpleasant cocktail of nausea, guilt, and desire. It took him a very, very long time to fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

_Red. Black. Red. _

_It was a pulsing light in the doorway at the end of the hall. It drew Alex forward helplessly, his bare feet catching on the carpet. His ears buzzed with a high pitched repetitive beeping sound. _

_Red. Black. Red. _

_Closer._

_He had almost reached the door, which stood ajar. It was room 521, but it didn’t look the same. He couldn’t see beyond the threshold any more. There was only darkness… but the beep, beep, beep was surely coming from inside. _

_He stepped forward cautiously, his fingertips trailing along the wall._

_“Don’t go in there, Alex.”_

_He jumped, spun round, heart pounding, but the hallway behind him was empty. The disembodied voice had come from nowhere. He called out, “Who’s there?” but only silence answered him. Sweat prickled in his armpits. He swallowed down the sound of his own rapid heartbeat. _

_Red. Black. Red._

_He had to go on. There was no other choice. He turned back to face that flickering red light and resumed his helpless journey. He approached the doorway, stopped, and leaned forwards over the threshold into the void. His hand brushed the inside wall, searching for a light switch, but there was nothing. He pushed the door wider and took a step. Then he took another. The darkness was filling him. He was breathing it in like smoke. One more step forward and he was surrounded by that thick black fog. It was in his lungs. He could feel it sticking in his throat, like tar._

_And then the door slammed shut behind him._

* * *

Alex woke with a yell and opened his eyes to darkness. He turned and looked automatically for Miles, but Miles wasn’t there. Nor was his hotel room. He wasn’t in bed at all; he was somewhere else. Panic bubbled up in his chest and he fought to get his breathing under control. He felt the sensation of rough carpet beneath his bare feet, and against his back the solid surface of a wall.

He blinked and forced himself to wait. Slowly his eyes began to adjust to the dark. There was a wall behind him and a wall in front of him, and now he could make out the edges of a long line of doors stretching away into the distance. He was out in the corridor, somehow. What the hell was he doing out in the corridor?

He peered at the door in front of him. The number of his and Miles’s room was 112, but the number he saw on this door was 510. He wasn’t even on the right _floor_. Cold fingers of dread began to encircle his chest. He’d awoken to find himself in the very same corridor as the one from his nightmare. Standing at the end of this row of doors was room number 521.

He turned to look towards the end of the hallway, convinced that he was about to see the intermittent flashing of a weird red light.

There was nothing. The corridor was as dark as ever, and completely silent.

He stood frozen, unsure. What was he _doing_ here? Had he actually managed to sleepwalk all the way to the fifth floor? Had he somehow managed to operate that ancient clanking lift, without once waking himself up?

Perhaps he had taken the stairs. His legs did feel shaky. Actually, his whole body felt shaky – and the fact that he had no memory of how he’d got up here was only making it worse.

It was cold in the corridor. He patted himself down and found that he was dressed once again in his white robe, though he didn’t remember putting it on. He drew it tighter around his waist and buried his hands deep inside the pockets. As he did so, the fingers of his right hand closed over something cold and metal. He drew out the object to look at it, and his heart gave a jolt. It was the key to room 521. He rammed it back into his pocket.

_No chance. Absolutely no fucking way. I’m not going in there. I’m going back downstairs to bed like any other normal, sane person would._

He kept very still, willing himself to calm down. His eyes settled once more on the line of doors, and he turned his head to stare down the dark hallway. He was starting to feel that strange heat again, in the middle of his forehead, just above his eyebrows. It was as though the skin there was humming with trapped energy. He tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. The feeling only intensified.

Before he quite realised what he was doing, he’d taken several steps further down the corridor, in the direction of room 521.

_Stop, Alex. What the hell are you doing? Are you fucking crazy?_

He stopped, and listened. It was so quiet that the only thing he could hear was the subtle hiss of tinnitus inside his own ears. There was something wrong with this place. He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel it in the heaviness of his limbs, and the dryness of his throat. His fingers curled and uncurled around the key in his pocket.

_Why the hell would you want to go in there anyway? What are you trying to prove?_

Perhaps he was trying to prove that he wasn’t actually imagining all of this. There was no way to know for sure, if he didn’t take a look. It was possible that the room on the other side of that door was perfectly ordinary, in which case he would be able to dismiss this whole situation as a product of his insomnia-addled brain and just go back to bed.

But maybe… just maybe… the room wasn’t ordinary at all.

His mind burned with a dark curiosity and suddenly he couldn’t stand the not knowing. Clearly he’d walked up here in his sleep for a reason, and it seemed as though the truth lay just beyond that threshold at the end of the hall. Just one little turn of the key was all it would take… and then he would know.

He began to walk once more, hyper aware of each step that he took. The carpet brushed against his bare toes. The numbered doors slipped slowly past, one by one.

_513… 514… 515_…

His skin began to prickle with sweat despite the chillness of the air. His breathing grew shallow.

_516… 517… 518_…

He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. His heartbeat felt like a pendulum in his chest. Every primal instinct in his body was telling him that he ought to turn and run, but it was too late for that. He’d come too far. Three more steps, and there he was, standing outside the door to room 521, only this time he wasn’t dreaming.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key and lifted it to the keyhole with a shaky hand. The key slid in smoothly and when it turned there was a soft click. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door inwards. He half expected it to creak ominously like in some cliché horror film, but it just swung open silently on its hinges. It was dark inside. He had a horrible feeling of déjà vu as he reached across the threshold and swept his hand over the inside wall, seeking the light switch. Unlike in his dream, this time his fingers bumped up against something plastic, and his shoulders sagged with relief as he flicked the switch with his thumb.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and flicked the switch a couple more times, but to no effect. The power had clearly gone out again. He drew in a breath and tried to ignore his creeping flesh.

_It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a coincidence._

He breathed in again, curled his fingers tightly around the door frame, and took a careful step into the room.

The huge arched windows were uncurtained and the full moon cast a grey light across the collection of silent instruments. There were so many of them, more than he remembered. They lined the walls and the floor, motionless and yet somehow expectant, as though they’d been waiting for him. There was a huge double bass looming in one corner, almost as tall as he was, and to his right the sharp edges of the harp jutted out into the room like a knife. The shadowy moonlight was doing strange things to the outlines of the guitars. They appeared oddly bent and twisted out of shape. Looking at them, it was easy to imagine that they weren’t really guitars at all, but something else entirely; something that was merely mimicking the appearance of those familiar instruments.

In the middle of the room, leaning casually in its stand, was the guitar that he’d played before – the same guitar that Mark had used on stage. Even in the faded light, its red-stained wood seemed to glisten wetly, as though the colour was freshly painted. It stood out from all the rest of the instruments and he felt like it was beckoning to him, inviting him to come and pick it up. He slowly let go of the doorframe and took a couple more hesitant steps into the room.

He stopped and looked back.

Nothing had changed. The door remained open, the dark corridor visible beyond. Despite the power outage, he thought he could hear the faint hum of something electrical, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Perhaps that too was just the static in his ears.

He turned to face the room once more, approached the guitar and bent down to take it. He slung the strap across his shoulders and took a seat on the leather bench beside the window. His eye fell upon a notebook and pen lying abandoned on the floor at his feet, and he wondered if it was Mark’s. It was a thick notebook, hardbound, and with a delicate pattern of golden, curling ivy on the cover, but when he picked it up and flicked through the pages, they were all disappointingly blank.

He focused his attention back on the guitar. The steel strings felt oddly warm beneath the tips of his fingers. He pressed them down flat against the fretboard and picked out a simple melody, the notes ringing out clearly against the backdrop of silence. He looked once more towards the door. It still hadn’t moved.

_What in the hell are you doing, Alex? What is it that you’re trying to achieve?_

He sighed. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve. He was sat here wide awake in the middle of the night, attempting to invoke the ghosts of his own madness on an acoustic guitar. That really wasn’t going to achieve anything. It certainly wasn’t going to help him write a record. The only thing that would help him with that was getting some bloody sleep and getting shot of this creepy fucking hotel. The sooner the better.

He made a move to stand up, and his fingers brushed lightly over the guitar strings as he did so. The notes rang out in a soft vibration and the air in front of him seemed to shimmer vaguely. He blinked, and then frowned. His thoughts began to coalesce around a certain idea. He sat down again and let his fingertips strum gently back and forth across the sound hole. He closed his eyes, and with his other hand he reached up to that spot in the centre of his forehead. He tapped lightly at the skin.

In an instant his mind was full of colours. It was as if someone had shattered a kaleidoscope and then scattered the broken fragments straight across his visual cortex. He strummed the strings again, harder, and now he couldn’t just see the colours, but hear them, and feel them too, as though they were three dimensional objects in space instead of mere patterns of light. The colours began to form themselves into shapes, at first vague and indistinct, but then clearer, and he suddenly realised that the shapes were in fact words, and he could read them.

His eyes snapped open, but the words were still there, etched like the afterglow of a camera flash across the surface of his retinas. He made a grab for the notebook lying at his feet, snatched up the pen and began to write. The words flowed through his mind in a rapid stream and his hand could barely move fast enough across the page to capture them. He wrote until his wrist ached; he wrote until his arm felt numb, and still the words kept coming to him, and he couldn’t stop.

Soon the room around him no longer seemed to exist. He forgot that it was the middle of the night. He forgot that he was sitting alone in room 521, surrounded by the watchful presence of those mysterious instruments.

After a while, time and space ceased to mean anything at all.


	13. Chapter 13

Miles jerked awake. He wiped a hand roughly across his face and it came away damp. His whole body was drenched in sweat, while his heart seemed to be doing its damnedest to beat its way out of his chest.

_Fuck, man. These fucking dreams…_

Because it was a dream that had woken him, once again. His mind shimmered with slowly fading images and imagined sensations. The damned thing had been so _vivid_. He could still feel the tight grip of those strong fingers around his hips, holding him in place, and the breath coming hot against the back of his neck as he surrendered utterly to the will of the man who’d taken ownership of his body. He had no memory of the man’s face, only of the burning pleasure that had been inflicted upon him, a pleasure so intense that it was almost too much; a pleasure which flirted with the boundaries of pain like a flat stone being skimmed across the surface of a pond.

He uttered a low groan. His body was clenched tight as a fist, and of course Alex had done his usual morning disappearing act. _God_, but he wanted Alex right now. His mind was fast dissolving into a pornographic slideshow of dirty images; flashes of Alex lying prone beneath him, his back arching into Miles’s thrusts, his skin slick with sweat as his hands gripped desperately at the bedsheets while Miles pounded into him until both of them were moaning helplessly and gasping for breath.

But Alex wasn’t here. And even if he _had_ been here, there was no getting away from the fact that he probably wouldn’t even have been interested – not if his flirting with the bartender last night was anything to go by.

Miles groaned again. He yearned for a release from all the tension gripping his body, but thinking about Alex was only giving him unpleasant feelings of hurt and rejection. He needed to focus on something else, or else just try not to think at all.

He closed his eyes and reached beneath the covers to take hold of his aching cock. It only took a few firm strokes for his pulse to quicken and his breathing to become ragged. He tried to empty his mind and to concentrate on the sensations alone, but as his desire mounted it was increasingly difficult to maintain his focus. He could feel his climax building in the pit of his stomach, his thoughts fragmenting, scattering and reforming, and then without warning his mind flashed back to the previous evening in the bar. He felt once again the unexpected sensation of Mark’s fingers gripping his jaw, and he recalled Mark himself, staring at him with those dark inscrutable eyes, and saying the words: _I think that you want someone to take care of you._

Miles shuddered. In the context of the current moment, Mark’s words had a very clear connotation. His breath hitched as his imagination turned helplessly to all the possible ways that Mark might find to take care of him, if only given the chance, and in seconds he found himself coming undone. His body stretched taut as he teetered deliriously close to the edge, and then he plunged over and into freefall, crying out as the waves of pleasure crashed through him, only dimly aware of the warm fluid that spilled over his hand.

Some minutes later, he opened his eyes again. He stared straight up at the ceiling, his breathing heavy but soft. There was a moment where he felt completely at ease, relieved, almost peaceful… but then his conscience rushed back in and his hangover smacked him in the face like a cement brick. His eyes widened in horror. He flung back the sheets, almost tripping as he stumbled across the room to the ensuite bathroom. He landed gracelessly on his knees in front of the toilet and was at once very emphatically and very unpleasantly sick.

* * *

It was not until several hours later that Miles finally felt brave enough to venture out of the room. His watch told him that he’d missed lunch by a long shot, but it hardly mattered; the thought of food still made him feel queasy. What he needed right now was a smoke and some painkillers. _Especially_ some painkillers. He felt as though a brass band had taken up a permanent residency inside his skull.

He supposed he ought to go and look for Alex as well, but who knew where the hell he’d got to this time. What he really wanted to do was find out whether or not the phone lines had been reconnected yet, so that they could call the rescue company, get their shit together, and get the hell out of this damn hotel. They’d already lost two days out of their trip, the new record was no closer to being written, and being stuck in this place seemed to be doing his relationship with Alex no favours at all. They needed to get back out on to the open road and find someplace decent to stay, somewhere with a swimming pool and a sauna, and preferably somewhere without the kind of headache-inducing red décor that made his hangovers seem ten times worse.

He splashed his face with water one final time in the bathroom sink, and then he slunk quietly out of the room, through the hallway, and down the stairs. The hotel seemed quiet again and he didn’t encounter anyone else downstairs other than a large dog that lay sprawled upon one of the sofas in the corner of the lobby; it regarded him curiously through lazy, half-lidded eyes.

The lobby looked different with the lights on. Without the soft romantic glow of candlelight, the faux classical sculptures on either side of the check-in desk looked rather cheap and tacky, and it was clear now that the furniture dotted around had seen better days. The carpet was threadbare and worn, and he noticed that a metal bucket had been left on the floor to catch the drips which filtered sporadically through one damp-looking corner of the ceiling.

There was no one manning the desk, but to the left of it was a door which was standing ajar, and he thought he could hear sounds coming from the other side. He winced abruptly, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was getting worse.

_Please let there be somebody in that room, and please god let them have some fucking ibuprofen._

He approached the door and was about to raise his hand to knock when his eyes took in the words emblazoned across the frosted glass panel – _Hotel Manager’s Office._

His cheeks grew immediately warm. Mark was really the _last_ person he wanted to see right now; not when he was feeling this delicate, and _especially_ not after the little show that his imagination had cooked up for him earlier. If Mark gave him one more of those crooked, insinuating smiles while he was in his current fragile state, he felt like he might actually crumple to the floor. 

_Get a fucking grip, Kane – you’re a grown man not a teenage girl._

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It wasn’t as though he had a more appealing option. His head was pounding and frankly he would have walked across hot coals at that moment if there’d been a pharmacy waiting for him on the other side. He reached up and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so he knocked once again. “Hello, is there anyone there?”

Some seconds passed and there was still no response, but he was sure that he could hear noises coming from the other side, as well as the intermittent beeping of something electronic. He pushed the door inwards and stepped into the room.

It was a small, neat office with a pinewood desk, a black leather chair and a pot plant in one corner, but Miles’s eyes skipped rapidly over these commonplace features. What drew his attention was the large bank of television screens mounted to the wall behind the desk. It looked like some kind of CCTV central monitoring station. The sounds he’d heard were apparently coming from the screens, as there was no one else in the room.

He took a few steps closer, his curiosity piqued despite his headache. The images were similar to those he’d seen on the television sets scattered about in the dining room. One screen was showing what looked to be the earthrise above the lunar surface, and there were several others that showed different angles of the same winding, orange-walled corridor. Interspersed with these seemingly random pictures were screens which showed parts of the hotel itself. There was one showing the lobby, and another the bar, and another a large room full of slot machines with a grand piano mounted on a plinth at its centre.

That last one was the casino. Miles had discovered that room yesterday when he’d gone looking for Alex, although Alex hadn’t been there at the time. It occurred to him that he could try looking for Alex now, seeing as he had all these screens in front of him. It would surely save him the trouble of tramping up and down the stairs and physically checking all the common areas between here and their room.

He swept his eyes from left to right, looking for signs of life. He frowned. That was odd. He couldn’t see Alex in any of the rooms, but he couldn’t see anyone else either. It was as though the hotel was completely deserted again, and yet last night it had been teeming with people. Where had they all gone?

He scanned his eyes once more over the screens. There had to be at least thirty of them and they were each no larger than fifteen inches across. Still nothing. He sighed and was about to give up, when he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned and saw that two figures had just stepped into frame on one of the lower screens on the far right-hand side.

He stepped forward to get a closer look, and immediately recognised the miniaturised form of the man who’d served him last night in the bar – the same guy that Alex had been flirting with. Miles scowled. He’d no interest in seeing that guy again, ever. He gritted his teeth and was about to turn around and leave, when he realised that the second figure on the screen was Mark. He knew it was Mark because of the way that he moved; his posture upright, his shoulders back. The hotel manager held himself with the kind of self-assured poise that suggested that he owned the place, which, Miles supposed, he did.

But it wasn’t just his posture that had caught Miles’s eye, it was his outfit. The sharp suit and smart dress shoes were gone, and Mark was clothed instead in a tight black t-shirt and the most form-fitting pair of leather trousers that Miles had ever seen. They clung flatteringly to his every curve, and Miles suddenly found it impossible to look away. The image filled him with a vague, unexplained feeling of déjà vu.

Mark and the bartender appeared to be engaged in some sort of conversation. Miles could just make out the low hum of their voices, but not well enough to understand what they were saying. He noticed that they appeared to be standing in one of the hotel bedrooms, which didn’t really make any sense. Surely it wasn’t common practice to have CCTV in hotel bedrooms?

The thought evaporated as he saw with sudden shock that the bartender was removing his clothes. In a matter of seconds, the man had stripped himself of his shirt and his jeans, and now he was backing away towards the bed. He climbed on top of the bedspread and knelt there, wrapping both hands around the slim wooden bars that adorned the foot of the bedframe.

Miles couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. As he watched, Mark moved towards the foot of the bed and secured the man’s hands to the wooden bars with a pair of leather cuffs. Then he took hold of the man’s jaw, lifted his face, and kissed him.

Miles felt his stomach flip. He shouldn’t be watching this. He ought to leave the office right this second and close the door behind him. That was what any half decent person would have done right about now… and yet he remained where he was, utterly transfixed, and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.

He saw Mark climb on to the bed and take up his position behind the now shackled bartender, who was waiting for him on all fours. He stared as Mark pulled the man’s underwear down over his thighs and discarded it, before reaching a hand between the man’s legs. The bartender collapsed at once on his forearms. Miles couldn’t quite see what Mark was doing with his hand, but the expression on the bartender’s face told him more than enough. The man’s eyes were shut, his mouth open, and his features were contorted into a snarl of lust. Mark continued in his hidden movements, and his partner’s groans began to transmit faintly but unmistakably through the television’s tiny speakers.

Miles could feel himself beginning to sweat. Mark leant forwards and grabbed a fistful of the bartender’s hair, yanked him back on to his haunches and whispered something in his ear. The man gave another low moan and then seemed to go boneless. Mark pushed him back down against the bed, and then stood for a moment to discard his clothes. Miles was struck yet again by how closely Mark resembled Alex, even down to the level of bare skin and muscle, and for a moment his perception blurred and he imagined that it really _was_ Alex who he saw climbing back on to the bed and slotting his pelvis against the prone body that lay before him.

Miles suddenly felt the force of his own erection pressing against his clothing. Mark had a bottle of something in his hands now, and Miles knew what that meant. He knew what it meant and yet he still couldn’t stop watching. Mark wrapped his fingers tightly around the bartender’s hips, and Miles heard the man let out a high pitched keening sound as Mark began to thrust into him. The man’s fingers were clenched tight around the wooden bars of the bedframe and his mouth hung open in a wordless cry of desire.

Mark began to move his hips in a quickening rhythm, and Miles’s breathing began to quicken to match it. He pulled his eyes away from the bartender’s face and fixed his gaze instead on Mark. What he saw nearly sent him over the edge. Mark was smiling that devilish smile, the one that tied Miles’s stomach in knots, and his eyes were burning with barely concealed triumph. He fucked the man below him mercilessly into the bed, and Miles could only imagine what that felt like, to be taken in that way, to let himself go and give himself over completely to the will of another person. Alex had never fucked him like that, no one had, and the longing that suddenly came to the fore in him was sharp and urgent in its intensity. His cock twitched and he bit back a moan; he felt his body heat rise, and in the next moment he was fighting off an insanely inappropriate urge to reach down and palm himself through his clothes.

It was then that Mark lifted his chin, turned his head, looked straight up into the camera, and right into Miles’s eyes.

Miles jerked back from the screen with a start. Mark’s rhythm didn’t falter; he began to thrust his hips harder and faster into the man beneath him until the bartender’s cries sounded desperate, and all the while he kept his eyes fixed on the camera, his lips twisted into that knowing, crooked smile.

Miles was frozen to the spot. His thoughts were in chaos. _You’re crazy. He can’t see you. Of course he can’t see you. That’s not how CCTV works. Don’t be fucking stupid._

And that was when Mark closed one eye in an exaggerated and lascivious wink.

Miles gave a cry and stumbled backwards. He crashed into the corner of the desk and pain stabbed into the back of his leg. He turned and scrambled away from the wall of screens, bolted out of the office and slammed the door shut.

_What the fucking fuck just happened?_

He stood very still, breathing heavily. Shivers chased up and down his arms like cold sparks of electricity. His earlier arousal was completely forgotten.

_Did I just imagine that?_

Of course he’d bloody imagined it. He was hungover as fuck. He wasn’t in full possession of his faculties. Maybe he was even still a little drunk – that was all it was. Surely.

_Oh yeah? Prove it then. Go back in there and look._

He wiped his hand roughly across his mouth. He stared at the closed office door. There was still no one else around, other than him, and the dog. The dog was looking at him with an expression that seemed entirely too perceptive for an animal.

_You’re being ridiculous. Just open the fucking door._

“Okay, okay, fine,” he muttered. He steeled himself and took a small step back towards the office. He curled his hand around the doorknob, twisted, and tugged. He pulled the door open a few inches and listened. The room was quiet. He could no longer hear any sounds coming from the monitors.

Cautiously, he pushed the door wider and stepped back into the room.

His heart lurched.

There was no sound coming from the monitors because all the monitors were blank. There were no images of hotel bedrooms, orange corridors, or anything else – just empty grey screens. He glanced at the lights as if to assure himself that there hadn’t been another power cut, but there hadn’t. The lights were still on, and he knew that no one else had been into the office except for him… but the screens had been working before, hadn’t they? He was sure of it. Surely he couldn’t have imagined that as well…

The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. Something felt very wrong here. Even though all the screens were now blank, he suddenly had the uncanny feeling of being watched.

He backed slowly out of the office once again and closed the door. That was it. Alex had been right about this place from the start; it was weird and it was creepy and they needed to get the hell out of here.

He marched back around to the front of the check-in desk and picked up the receiver of the rotary dial phone that still sat there unattended. _Please, please let it be working._

He heard nothing but silence. The line was dead. He crashed the receiver back down in frustration and jerked the phone roughly across the desk. That was when he noticed a certain lack of tension in the telephone cable. He frowned, picked up the phone and stepped backwards. The phone came towards him easily, trailing behind it a wire that ended after a few feet, attached to nothing.

He snatched up the end of the wire and held it to the light. It had been slashed straight across with something sharp, in a way that looked deliberate. Why the hell would somebody vandalise the bloody telephone? Unless… unless they didn’t want anyone to use it.

Miles fumbled and nearly dropped the phone on the floor. He set it back down unsteadily on the desk and then folded his arms tightly around himself. If there was no phone, then there was no chance of him or Alex calling for a tow company to come and rescue them. That meant that they were stuck here.

Somebody in the hotel clearly didn’t want them to leave.


	14. Chapter 14

Alex could feel Miles shaking him gently by the shoulder. He let out a low grumble of displeasure. He was tired, still. Why couldn’t Miles just let him alone to sleep? He tried to turn over, meaning to bury his face amongst the pillows, and that was when he felt the unexpected roughness of carpet against his cheek.

His eyes shot open. “What the– where–?”

“It’s alright, Alex,” said a voice that was not Miles’s.

Alex jerked around with a start, and flinched to discover Mark crouched down beside him. Mark was watching him with a faintly bemused expression. Alex stared rapidly around the room, noticed the instruments surrounding him, and realised he was in room 521. _What the hell am I doing in room 521?_

“Looks like someone’s been burning the midnight oil,” Mark said with a slight smile.

Alex just stared at him. “You what?”

Mark reached over and picked up the notebook that was lying face down on the carpet. He held it open and flicked through the pages one by one. Alex’s eyes widened when he saw that over half of them were covered in his own untidy handwriting.

He sat up straighter and snatched the notebook out of Mark’s hands. “What is this?” he said. “I don’t remember writing this.”

Mark shook his head. “You should have come and talked to me after my set last night,” he said. “I could have explained a bit more about how these exercises work.”

“Last night?” Alex echoed.

All at once, the previous evening in the bar came back to him like a slap to the face. He’d gone to bed alone. He’d lain awake in the dark for over an hour, hoping that Miles would eventually come up to join him… but Miles never had. Miles had stayed downstairs in the bar, obviously far too absorbed in watching Mark play to want to come back to the room.

Alex’s jaw tightened. He shot Mark a glare. “Didn’t feel much like talkin’ last night,” he said.

Mark just looked at him. “Have I done something to upset you, Alex?” he said.

Alex stared back and said nothing. It felt like a trick question.

Mark stood up and took a seat on the leather bench. “I hear you have writer’s block,” he said. “That must be very frustrating.”

Alex scowled. “Been talkin’ to Miles about me, have ya?”

Mark spread his hands in a disarming gesture. “He mentioned you were having some difficulties finding your muse, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I can sort out me own problems, thanks. I don’t need your input.”

“Indeed, I’m sure you’re more than capable,” Mark said. “The last thing I’d want to do is impose my advice where it’s not wanted.”

Alex snorted and shook his head. “Right.”

Mark smiled at him. “So tell me,” he said. “How long has it been since you last wrote something that you were satisfied with?”

Alex frowned. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said. “But, a while, probably.”

“And does that include the things that you wrote last night?”

Alex faltered slightly. “I… dunno. Like I said, I don’t remember writing anythin’.”

“Well, why don’t you take a look? Go on, I’ll wait.”

Alex shot another glare in Mark’s direction, but he picked up the notebook again. He licked the end of his thumb as he turned the first page, and noticed that the tips of his fingers were covered with spilled ink. He frowned again. There really was no trick here; it was his own handwriting inside the book, and the proof of his labour was all over his hands – so why didn’t he remember doing it? More to the point, why didn’t he remember coming to room 521?

_You were sleepwalking again, obviously._

Alex pursed his lips. Sleepwalking was one thing – but sleep writing? That was impossible, surely?

He pushed the thought away and turned his attention back to the words in the book. As he read, his eyes began to widen. On the third page, his heart gave a little flutter. The work was far, far better than he’d expected. Even when working under optimal circumstances, his early drafts weren’t normally this good, and he’d written this stuff in the middle of the night while not even fully conscious; by rights it ought to have been fucking terrible. But somehow, it wasn’t. It was… okay, actually. Not that it was perfect of course, because nothing ever was, but at least he could work with this. It had a certain spark to it… a spark that he could believe in.

He began to turn the pages faster, his eyes skimming over the phrases. Despite his exhaustion, his stomach began to tingle. How the hell had he managed to do this? Where had the words come from? A prick of anxiety cut into his growing excitement – if he didn’t know how he’d done it, then how was he supposed to replicate the process?

A gentle C chord rang out into the room, and he looked up to see Mark cradling the red guitar in his lap. “You were playing this one, weren’t you?” he said.

Alex nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah I were.” He could remember something now; the warm feeling of the strings beneath the calloused pads of his fingers. He remembered seeing… colours. Pictures, almost. But he’d only been playing with one hand, and the pictures hadn’t been very clear. _Hang on, _he thought,_ why the hell was I only playing with one hand?_

Mark was looking at him with a knowing expression. “You’ve only scratched the surface of what’s possible, Alex,” he said. “If you want me to, I can teach you more.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Teach me what?”

Mark strummed the guitar again and smiled. “How to make your dreams come true.”

Alex opened his mouth to scoff, but for some reason found himself shivering instead. “What are ya talkin’ about?” he said.

“What is it that you want most?” Mark said.

Alex rolled his eyes. “I don’t bloody know, man. Breakfast, probably.”

Mark shook his head. “And that right there is your problem. You don’t even know what you want. How do you expect to be able to express yourself when you’re so out of touch with your own desires?”

“I am not–”

Mark strummed the guitar again and Alex fell silent. “Yes you are,” he said. “You’re hiding from your own truth. You’ve buried yourself under layers of complicated thinking. But it’s really simple, Alex. If you let me, I can help you find what’s underneath. And I can help you take control of it.”

Alex said nothing for a moment. He was no longer entirely sure he was following the thread of the conversation. He looked back down at the notebook in his hands, and once more felt the tingle of anticipation in his stomach. Whatever he’d written in this book, it was alive, and he needed to keep it that way.

He looked back up at Mark. “Can I be frank wi’ ya?” he said.

Mark nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to be anything else.”

Alex took a breath. “I don’t like you very much,” he said. “Your face creeps me right the fuck out, and I trust ya about as far as I can throw ya.” He held up the notebook and waved it. “But I need to know how I did this… and summat tells me you know the answer.”

Mark gave a low chuckle. “I appreciate your candour,” he said. “And just so you know, I’m still willing to help you, even if you don’t like me very much.” He leaned forwards, and his face became more serious. “I do however need you to trust me to a certain extent, or else I’m afraid this is going to be a non-starter.”

Alex frowned. His fingers tightened around the notebook. “What do you need me to do?” he said.

Mark patted the space on the bench beside him. “Come and sit here,” he said.

Alex got reluctantly to his feet. He felt a little light-headed with lack of sleep and he paused for a moment while his vision swam back into focus. He sat down on the bench beside Mark and Mark handed him the red guitar.

“Do you remember what I showed you last time?” he said.

Alex automatically reached up to touch his forehead. Of course. That was why he’d had to play one-handed. He couldn’t tap at his forehead and play the guitar at the same time.

Mark was nodding at him, as if reading his thoughts. “I can teach you how to access that mental pathway without the need for touch,” he said. “But first we have to strengthen the link. Will you allow me to help you with that?”

Alex frowned again, but then gave a hesitant nod.

“Good,” Mark said. “Turn and face me.”

Mark moved so that he was sitting astride the bench, and Alex mirrored him, still clutching the guitar close to his body. Mark shifted forwards until they were knee to knee.

“Try to clear your mind,” he said. “And if that fails, just focus on me.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said.

Mark tilted his head. His forehead creased as though he was considering something. “Alex,” he said. “I do want to help you, but this has to be your choice. Everything that happens from now on is your choice. Do I make myself clear?”

Alex blinked. He nodded again, slowly. “Yeah, you do.”

“Good,” Mark said again. “Keep still until I say so.”

Mark leaned closer and touched the index finger of his right hand to Alex’s forehead. He didn’t tap this time, but instead began to draw small circles, first clockwise and then anti-clockwise.

Alex gasped. He could already feel the heat building in his skin. The edges of his vision began to pulse red and orange. He gripped the side of the bench with one hand to steady himself.

“Keep looking at me,” Mark said.

Alex stared back into Mark’s eyes – into his _own_ eyes. It was a strange and unsettling feeling. He tried to stay focused. The pulsing colours around his field of vision changed from orange, to yellow, to green, and then to blue, and as he continued to stare into Mark’s eyes, it seemed that Mark’s face was changing somehow as well. It began to look less familiar, less like his own face, though he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just an optical illusion, or some strange trick of the light.

No… there was definitely something different about Mark’s eyes, something that he hadn’t noticed before. They weren’t just dark brown like his own; they were patterned with threads of a pure cobalt blue, like a late summer sky. He was sure he’d seen eyes like those somewhere before… but as to where, the memory escaped him.

“Concentrate,” Mark said. “What colours do you see?”

“I see… I see blue,” Alex said.

“Good. Hold on to that colour. I’m going to push a little more, are you ready?”

“I think so.”

Mark nodded, and then he laid all four fingers and his thumb against Alex’s forehead, and _twisted_ them sharply to the right as if turning a dial.

Alex cried out. Everything went dark. Both Mark and the room vanished. For a moment he could see nothing at all, and terror gripped him like a fist around his throat. His breathing grew faster and he was about to yell out for help, when suddenly the whole universe opened up right in front of his eyes. He was in a dark empty space, criss-crossed by a network of thin golden pathways, and he was just floating there in the midst of it all, as though gravity no longer existed. The pathways snaked and twisted all around him like gossamer threads, and as he watched, some of them began to pulse with vivid blue flashes of light.

“Alex, can you hear me?”

Mark’s voice echoed out of nowhere. It seemed to be coming from inside his own head.

“I… yes, I hear ya, but… I don’t know where I am.”

“Don’t be frightened,” Mark said. “Do you see a blue light?”

Alex turned his gaze towards the blue flashes. They were all travelling in the same direction along the golden threads. He turned his head to follow them and his body rotated in the air. He let out a gasp as he saw the object hanging in space behind him. It was a vast blue nebula of light, and each of the glowing pathways led straight towards it. It was so bright as to be almost blinding, and yet it didn’t hurt his eyes to look at it. It shimmered in the air like a mirage, and without questioning himself, he moved his arms through the air and began to float himself slowly towards it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was almost unbearably beautiful… like the crushed light of a million stars.

“I see it,” Alex whispered.

Mark’s voice floated back to him out of the ether. “Good,” he said. “Go closer.”

Alex continued to float through the void, the delicate network of threads brushing past him like cobwebs. His skin tingled where they touched him. Everything around him was strange and alien, and yet he did not feel afraid. He had the peculiar sensation of coming home after having been away for a very long time, and the closer he came to the pulsing nebula of light, the stronger the feeling became. He began to approach its outer edge, and he reached out a hand towards that beautiful burning blue.

“Yes,” he heard Mark say softly in the middle of his head. “Go on...”

His fingers disappeared into the light and a shiver raced up his arm. He pulled his hand back and saw that his skin had begun to glow a pearly, luminescent blue like the nebula itself. He could feel the colour spreading throughout his body, and as it did so he began to feel himself expanding. His mouth fell open at the sudden realisation. It was all his, everything, the universe – it was offering itself to him like a gift, and all he had to do was reach out and take it. Everything suddenly made perfect sense. He could feel the very essence of himself, all the truths that lay behind the masks and illusions of his own consciousness. He could feel it unfolding within him, all the truth of his heart’s desire. It was so clear to him now… it was… it was…

There was a click, like fingers snapped too close to his ear. He took in a sharp, panicked breath as he suddenly found himself back in room 521.

Mark gripped him tight by the upper arm. “Breathe,” he said. “Breathe, Alex.”

Alex inhaled shakily. His whole body was trembling. “What the–”

“Ssssh,” Mark said. “Don’t speak. Play.” He pointed to the guitar that Alex still clutched in his arms.

Alex blinked dazedly, for a moment not understanding the instruction, but then he obeyed and lowered his hands to the strings. He began to play, and the music that flowed from the guitar was like nothing else he had ever played before. It moved from his mind to his fingers without hesitation or error, fully formed and perfect, like the embodiment of a dream. He began to sing softly, and the words too tumbled from his mouth in their purest form, each phrase a perfect microcosm of a larger idea.

He began to smile. He played on as the butterflies began to dance in his stomach, and soon his whole body was tingling with excitement. Though Mark was no longer touching him, he could still feel the heat at the centre of his forehead and it felt like a channel through which his thoughts were flowing like water.

After some minutes, the heat began gradually to dissipate. His fingers slowed on the strings, and the last notes of the song drifted like specks of stardust into the air, before fading entirely away. He paused and breathed out into the silence. He felt completely and utterly at peace.

Finally, he opened his eyes. He looked up at Mark and grinned despite himself, all animosity temporarily forgotten. “That was fuckin’ incredible,” he said. “I felt like I could play anythin’, and it was everythin’ I meant to say.”

Mark smiled back at him. “Of course,” he said. “Inspiration comes from the unconscious. If you can harness that, you can be the master of all your creative desires. But it will take practice before you can take full control.”

Alex leaned forward. “Teach me,” he said urgently. “Please. Will you?”

Mark cocked an eyebrow and his smile sharpened. “Of course, Alex,” he said. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll teach you everything you want to know.”


	15. Chapter 15

Miles woke with a start as the hotel room door slammed shut. He opened his eyes in time to see Alex stride across the room with a notebook in one hand and a bright red guitar slung over his shoulder. Alex slapped the notebook down on the table, opened it and drew up a chair.

Miles struggled up on to his elbows and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He was stretched out on top of the bedcovers, a book lying open and forgotten across his chest. He’d obviously fallen asleep while reading… or at least while pretending to read. He remembered that what he’d _actually_ been doing was waiting for Alex to come back. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch and saw that it was already late afternoon. Alex had been gone for most of the day.

Miles rubbed blearily at his face. “Where the bloody ‘ell ‘av _you_ been?” he said.

Alex barely even glanced at him. “I were wi’ Mark,” he said.

Miles frowned and sat up straight. “What?” he said. “This whole time?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Alex pulled out a pen and started to scribble in the notebook.

Miles stared at him, his brows knitted in sudden confusion. “Are you _writing_ again?”

Alex sighed. “Yeah, I am, so maybe you could pipe down for a minute?”

Miles closed his mouth. He watched Alex’s hand zig zag back and forth across the page as though his fingers were barely keeping pace with his thoughts. Some minutes passed, but Alex didn’t look up or speak to him. Miles fidgeted in the silence. He tried to push away the feeling that Alex was blanking him on purpose. After last night’s little performance in the bar, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Alex was sending him another not-so-subtle hint to say that their intimate relationship was on its way out. He wondered whether Alex was planning to end the relationship in the same way that it had begun, with actions rather than with words.

He pressed his lips tightly together. If it was over between them then he wished Alex would just come right out and say it. He couldn’t stand being ignored. It drove him crazy at the best of times, but it was a hundred times worse when it was Alex doing the ignoring. Being ignored by Alex made him feel as if he’d somehow ceased to exist.

He shut his book and set it on the bedside table, got up quietly from the bed and went to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water.

When he came back into the room, Alex was still frantically scribbling away, pausing every so often to drag a hand through his hair. Miles took a seat on the end of the bed and watched him, saying nothing.

Eventually Alex set down the pen, leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

Miles waited for a moment before judging that it was safe to speak. “So,” he said finally. “What’s brought this on?”

Alex still seemed half lost in his own thoughts. “What?” he said. “Oh. I had all these ideas after Mark was showin’ me summat on the guitar and I just had to get ‘em down quick before I forgot.”

“What sort of things has he been showin’ yeh?”

Alex shifted in his seat. “Just some stuff. It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay… well, can I at least see what yeh wrote then?”

Miles reached out for the notebook, but Alex grabbed it, closed it with a snap and held it close to his chest. He looked at Miles with an indecipherable expression.

Miles stared at him. “What, yeh don’t want me to read it? Why not?”

Alex rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “It’s just… not ready yet, is all.”

“That’s never stopped yeh before. We are s’posed to be workin’ on this together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah course.” Alex started absently chewing on his thumbnail. “I just… need to work through some more stuff wi’ Mark first. Then I’ll show ya, I promise.”

Miles leaned back slowly, feeling his face crease into a frown. It was one thing for Alex to decide that he was bored with their physical relationship, but it was quite another for him to cast aside their _musical_ partnership in order to throw his lot in with a complete stranger. Why the hell was Alex pushing him away all of a sudden? His frown deepened, but Alex wasn’t even looking at him; he was just staring off into space with a distant expression on his face.

Miles coughed. “I’m not bein’ funny,” he said. “But yeh seem to be spendin’ an awful lot of time with Mark, considering yeh hate him so much.”

Alex glanced up at once, his gaze sharp. “Speak for yourself,” he said.

“What the hell’s that meant to mean?”

Alex scowled and turned away. “I heard you guys stayed up pretty late chattin’ in the bar last night.”

Miles looked at him incredulously. “Hey, come on now, you were the one that fucked off to bed early. So I had a drink with Mark, so what? It’s you who’s been hangin’ out with ‘im all bloody day.”

Alex twisted the cuff of his shirt sleeve in his fingers and said nothing.

“Anyway,” Miles said. “_You’re_ the one who supposedly hates him, not me.”

Alex glared at him. “Yeah, I’m well aware of that.”

Miles felt his face grow warm. Was that an insinuating tone that he could hear in Alex’s voice, or was he just being paranoid? He was positive that he hadn’t given Alex any _reason_ to insinuate anything, but nonetheless Alex was still glaring at him and he was beginning to get an uncomfortable guilty sensation in his chest. He pushed the feeling away. He’d no cause to feel guilty about anything, he’d done nothing wrong. Almost nothing. Nothing that anyone except the Thought Police could pin on him anyway.

He sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Look,” he said. “Can we forget about Mark, for the minute? I need to tell yeh something.”

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, don’t say I told yeh so, but I think yeh were right when yeh said that there was something strange about this place. I’ve been gettin’… I dunno, a weird feeling. And earlier on I went down to see whether the phone was workin’ yet, and it turns out that someone’s slashed the wire.”

Alex looked confused. “Slashed the wire on the phone? Why would anyone do that?”

Miles gave a helpless shrug. “No fuckin’ clue, but it gives me the creeps. I feel like we should get the fuck outta this place sooner rather than later.”

Alex looked at him for a few seconds without speaking. “Yeah,” he said finally. “About that. I, uh, think I overreacted when we first got ‘ere, to be honest. I were really sleep deprived and I just let me imagination get the better of me.” His fingers tapped gently against the notebook as he spoke. “I was actually thinkin’ maybe we could just stay and work on the record here, since we’re here anyway. I mean it makes sense. What d’ya reckon?”

Miles gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Yer tellin’ me yeh want to _stay_ now?”

Alex shrugged. “Why not? We’ve got a room, and all the instruments we need. We could go back to the car and get our clothes. And like you said, the phone’s still out so–”

“The phone is out _on purpose_, Alex.”

“Nah, s’probably just an accident,” Alex said. “Why don’t ya ask Mark about it?”

“Oh, so Mark’s trustworthy now is he? You’ve changed yer fuckin’ tune.”

Alex sighed heavily. “Look, Miles, I’m _writin’_ again, yeah? Do you understand what I’m sayin’? I’m finally gettin’ somewhere wi’ this bloody record and I just need a few more days workin’ wi’ Mark. After that, I promise we can go, okay? I just can’t leave in the middle of this.”

Miles threw his hands up. “Fine, fine. Yeh wanna stay, we’ll stay. Maybe we can both sit down with Mark and go through some stuff.”

Alex looked pained. “Actually, this is summat I need to work through wi’ just me an’ him.”

Miles stared at Alex with his mouth open.

“It’s only a few days,” Alex said quickly. “And then the two of us can sit down and–”

“What the fuck d’ya expect _me_ to be doin’ while you’re busy hangin’ out with Mark, eh?”

“You can write too, man, and we’ll compare notes after.”

Miles made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Please,” he said. “I just– I need this, okay? Miles? Will ya look at me, please?”

Miles reluctantly looked up and met Alex’s eyes, and saw at once that he’d lost the argument. For all that Alex’s expression seemed imploring, there was a steely determination underlying it which Miles recognised all too well. Alex had made up his mind, and that was that.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “But I’m talkin’ to Mark about what happened with the phone.”

Alex nodded. “Sure, do that,” he said. “Like I said, I’m sure it’s just an accident.”

Miles didn’t reply, and there was a short silence while they both just looked at each other. Then Alex lifted his hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.

“Did yeh not sleep well again?” Miles said. “You seemed pretty unconscious when I came up.”

Alex glanced away. “Yeah, I… think I woke up a few times in the night,” he said.

“Nightmares again?”

Alex gave a guarded shrug. “Summat like that. I might get me ‘ead down now actually, have a bit of a nap.” He looked back up at Miles. “Are ya feelin’ tired too?”

“Nope. I just had a sleep. I’ll leave yeh to it.”

“Oh… alright then.”

Miles stood up and moved away as Alex came over and climbed on top of the bed. He watched as Alex laid his head down on the pillow and curled himself into a foetal position. He fought off the urge to just sit back down, wrap his arms tight around Alex’s waist and curl up close beside him. It was a stupid and sentimental desire, and he was pretty sure that Alex wasn’t in the mood for that type of affection. For all he knew, Alex might not welcome that type of affection from him ever again.

He took another step away from the bed. “Sleep well, then,” he said. “I’ll come wake yeh before dinner.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. He stared at Miles for a few seconds longer, and then he closed his eyes.

Miles watched as Alex began to breathe more deeply, and for once he seemed to fall asleep almost straight away. After a few seconds, Miles was forced to avert his gaze. He couldn’t cope with the unbearable ache that filled his chest at the sight of Alex sleeping. Alex always looked so fucking angelic when he slept.

He swallowed hard, opened the hotel room door and stepped quietly out into the corridor. He pulled the door shut after him with a barely audible click. 

* * *

Miles dragged his feet as he made his way back downstairs. His headache had subsided to a dull throb but he still felt more than a little worse for wear. On top of that, he still hadn’t really gotten over the creeps from his earlier daydream, or hallucination, or whatever the hell it’d been that he’d seen in Mark’s office. As such, confronting Mark about the vandalised phone was really the last thing he felt like doing.

He’d managed to convince himself that the weird incident in Mark’s office _had_ been some sort of dream, simply because there was no other reasonable explanation for it – but that knowledge hadn’t actually served to make him feel any better. The fact remained that even if it had been a dream, he was still the one who’d dreamt it, and it disturbed him to know that his brain was capable of producing such a fantasy. He wasn’t sure how he was going to look Mark in the face when he next saw him.

He blinked hard in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Perhaps what he really needed right now was some hair of the dog, in lieu of the painkillers that he still hadn’t managed to find. No doubt it wasn’t the best idea, but at least it would sort his head out in the short term until it was time for dinner. His feet seemed to be wending their way in the direction of the bar in any case, having apparently made the decision for him.

He turned left at the bottom of the stairs and made his way up the corridor, past the lobby, and onwards until he reached the door of the bar. He hesitated for a moment outside. It occurred to him that the bartender from last night could still be working in there, and he didn’t think he could look that guy in the face either. His head was still full of the mental image of the man lying shackled to the bed while Mark fucked the living daylights out of him. _Christ sake’s Kane, would you get your mind out of the damned gutter?_

He let out an aggravated sigh and pushed the door open. He took a quick glance around but there was no sign of the bartender in question. There was no sign of anyone in fact. He stepped cautiously into the room, made his way over to the bar and propped himself up on a bar stool. He sat there for some minutes and looked around. The whole place was eerily quiet. Surely he couldn’t be the only person in the entire hotel who fancied a late afternoon bevvy? He thought back to the screens in Mark’s office, and how every single one of them had been empty of people…

But no, that’d just been part of his dream. There had to be someone else around.

“Hello?” he called over the top of the bar. “Is anyone servin’ here?”

There was a rustling sound and a clink of bottles, and then footsteps. Miles leaned further over the bar and noticed a narrow staircase leading down from a trapdoor in the floor, and then a familiar looking dark head emerged from within the gap. Miles winced.

Mark made his way slowly up the stairs and then stepped up behind the bar. “How lovely to see you again so soon, Miles,” he said, in a voice that made Miles think of black coffee and silk sheets. “What’ll it be?”

Miles fought back a grimace. “Didn’t expect to find yeh workin’ the bar,” he said.

Mark flashed him a jaunty smile. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I’ll ‘ave a pint of Budweiser then, please mate.”

Mark paused and gave Miles a long searching look. “I think I may have something that you’d like more,” he said.

Miles looked back at him warily. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Wait here,” Mark said. He disappeared into a small nook just to the left of the trapdoor and Miles heard some more rustling and clinking sounds. When Mark emerged again, he was holding a large glass of water… and a packet of Alka-Seltzer. He laid the glass down on the bar, tore open the packet, and dropped in two tabs with a familiar _plink plink fizz_. It was without doubt the most beautiful sound that Miles had heard all day.

“Jesus Christ, yer a bloody lifesaver,” Miles said.

Mark smiled. “I can tell when a man is suffering,” he said. “And in your case, I hold myself at least partly responsible.”

Miles watched as the tabs slowly dissolved and the water turned cloudy. He picked up the glass and took a large swig. “Oh man, that’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Mark chuckled. “Have you eaten anything today?” he said.

Miles shook his head. “Nah, I’ve been feeling too rough to be honest.”

Mark reached below the bar and pulled out a packet of salted peanuts. “Have these,” he said. “On the house. Dinner’s not for another hour or so and I don’t want you getting light-headed.”

Miles smiled despite himself. “Thanks, man.”

“Not at all,” Mark said. He turned away and began to rinse some glasses in the sink behind him.

Miles took another swig of water and cast his eyes over Mark’s outfit. The suit he was wearing was a rather unattractive beige colour, but somehow he still managed to carry it off with elegance and he looked as perfect and polished as ever. He was extremely overdressed for working behind a bar.

An image of Mark clothed in nothing but a pair of tight leather trousers flashed so suddenly into Miles’s mind that he almost choked on his water.

Mark glanced around. “Something wrong?” he said.

Miles shook his head fiercely. “No, no, nuffin, I’m fine.”

Mark smiled and turned back towards the sink. Miles forced his mind back to the present moment. He was letting himself get distracted from the problem at hand. No matter what Alex’d said about it, Miles still felt haunted by an uneasy feeling that the sabotaged phone in the lobby was no accident. There was something strange going on in this hotel, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, Mark, there’s somethin’ I need to talk to yeh about.”

Mark put down the glass he was holding. “Oh yes?”

“Yeah. It’s about the phone. Someone’s vandalised it. I went into the lobby earlier to see if it was workin’ and it looks like someone’s cut through the wire.”

Mark turned round again and laid both his hands on the bar. “Cut through the wire?” he said.

“Yeah. Like, deliberately.”

Miles watched Mark’s face for a reaction, but his expression remained blank. “That’s very strange,” he said.

“You’ve no idea who might have done that, then?” Miles said.

Mark shook his head. “Perhaps one of our younger guests decided to make some mischief,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”

Miles frowned. He hadn’t seen any ‘younger guests’ in the hotel, only party-goers, rich folks and business types. All of whom had currently disappeared again in any case. He glanced around once more at the empty room, which had been so packed last night and yet now stood completely silent. He found himself suddenly wishing very hard that Alex was here with him.

He turned back to face the bar and forced himself to meet Mark’s eyes. “Is there no other phone we could use, then?” he said.

Mark shook his head again. “I’m afraid not,” he said. He tapped his lip with his index finger as if thinking. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send Brian out on his motorcycle – he can drive to the nearest service station and call a roadside rescue for you from there, how does that sound?”

“Who’s Brian?”

“He’s our usual resident bartender, I believe you met him last night.”

Miles’s cheeks flared with heat. “Oh, that guy. Uh, yeah… I remember ‘im.”

“It’s his day off today,” Mark said. “But I can send him out first thing in the morning. Unless, of course, you’d like to go with him? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking a passenger.”

Miles hesitated. His instinct was to say yes, even though he didn’t particularly relish the idea of getting on the back of a motorcycle with Brian. If he went to the service station, it would mean that he’d be able to make the call to the roadside rescue company himself, and then he would know for sure that help was on the way. Somehow he didn’t much like the idea of trusting Brian to make the call for him.

The problem with that plan, of course, was that he’d have to leave Alex all by himself in the hotel, and some feeling deep in his gut told him that leaving Alex alone would be an extremely bad idea. He wasn’t sure why it would be bad, exactly, but nonetheless it was a hunch that felt too strong to ignore.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’d better stay here and keep an eye on Al.”

Mark’s lips twitched. “As you wish,” he said. “Though naturally I’d be happy to keep an eye on him for you whilst you were gone, if you feel that’s really necessary.” He picked up another glass and began polishing it.

Miles took a sip of water. “I’d sooner not leave him,” he said.

Mark gave him a thin smile. “Of course,” he said. “It’s up to you.”

Miles nodded. He watched as Mark rubbed the cloth back and forth over the glass in his hands. “Al mentioned that you guys started workin’ on some music today,” he said.

“Did he?” Mark said. He laid the glass down and picked up another one. “I wouldn’t necessarily have called it working. We just sat down for a little while with a guitar, that’s all.”

“Well, he seemed pretty excited by whatever you guys were doing. He’s started writin’ again and everythin’.”

Mark’s smile was almost a smirk. “Has he indeed?”

“Yeah. So, what the hell did yeh say to ‘im, exactly?”

Mark gave a casual shrug. “I really didn’t say anything except to give him some friendly advice. I’m glad to hear that he’s feeling more inspired.”

Miles frowned. He watched Mark bend down to set the glasses back beneath the bar. Perhaps he was being paranoid again, but it seemed as though Mark was being deliberately cagey about his earlier chat with Alex. “Come on, man,” he said. “What did yeh say to ‘im?”

Mark straightened up and rested his hands back on the bar. “Your friend complicates things for himself,” he said. “He finds it hard to identify what’s true amongst all the diversions his mind creates for him. It’s that which has been blocking him. I just showed him a simpler way to the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“The truth of his heart’s desire, naturally,” Mark said. He smiled and leaned forward slightly on his wrists, and Miles caught the subtle scent of his cologne. It was a woody scent, like a forest just after a rain storm, but with the faintest hint of something sharper underneath.

“This… uh… seems to be a favourite topic of yours,” Miles said.

Mark grinned. “Desire is what creates the world,” he said. “It’s what allows us to shape our own destiny, our reality. It’s a creative force, and part of what makes us human. Do you not agree?”

“I… don’t know. Maybe. I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it that way.”

Mark tilted his head to one side. “No?”

Miles cleared his throat. “I guess, when I think about desire, I think more about… yeh know… relationships an’ all that kinda stuff.”

“But it’s all one,” Mark said. “Desire is in what we wish for, what we create… and who we love.” His voice had become low and conspiratorial, as though he was sharing a secret. He gazed at Miles unblinkingly and the deep blue flecks in his brown irises flashed in the light.

Miles stared back at him, oddly hypnotised by the strange pattern of colours in Mark’s eyes. “What about you then?” he heard himself say.

“Me?”

Miles flushed. “What I meant was… yeh seem like the type of bloke who knows his own heart. So, I mean, was it always yer lifelong dream to run a hotel?”

Mark’s lips twisted into his familiar crooked smile. “I’m afraid my dreams are the kind that can’t easily be expressed in words,” he said. “I find it’s easier to show than to tell.”

Mark leaned closer as he spoke and Miles swallowed. “I… erm… show how, exactly?”

Mark's smile widened. "I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I Miles?"

Miles scoffed. "No, no course not."

"Glad to hear it. You know that's the very last thing I would want to do." Mark stepped back, still smiling. He turned away to tap some numbers into the cash register.

Miles ran a hand restlessly through his hair. He was starting to get the distinct feeling that he was being toyed with. It was as though they were playing some abstract game of cat and mouse in which Miles was definitely not the cat.

He sat up a little straighter. There was no way he was going to let himself be flirted into a corner by some bloke he barely knew, if that was indeed what Mark was trying to do. He couldn’t swear to it, of course, but from where he was sitting it felt like every one of Mark’s smiles was loaded with subtext and suggestion. And had Mark really propositioned him last night, or was that just another of his own flights of fancy?

He glanced back over in Mark’s direction and found Mark looking back at him with a disconcertingly knowing expression. Miles suddenly felt as if he was broadcasting his interior monologue on loudspeakers to the entire room. Mark looked as though he could read every single stupid thought passing through Miles’s head.

Miles coughed and glanced down at his hands. “So,” he said. “You were sayin’ about yer dreams?”

Mark stepped back over to the bar. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Dreams. No, to answer your question, I can’t say that I ever dreamt of being a hotel manager. My heart’s desire lies elsewhere. What about yourself, Miles – what kind of things do you dream about?”

“Well, me main ambition was always to be a rock star–”

“No,” Mark said. “Not your ambitions. What do you dream about at night, when you’re asleep?”

Miles looked up sharply, and then just as quickly looked away again. What the hell kind of question was that? “Nuffin,” he said. “I don’t dream much.” There was a pause of a few seconds, and then he glanced back up to find Mark looking at him with an amused expression.

_He knows you’re lying, he can see it in your face._

Miles frowned and pushed the thought away. How on earth had they gotten on to this topic? The last thing he wanted to discuss with Mark was the bizarrely X-rated content of his most recent night time imaginings… and his daydreams too.

“You know,” Mark said, in a casual tone. “I believe that our dreams can give us a link to the truths that we hide from ourselves. They have much to teach us, if we only know how to look beneath their surface.”

Miles snorted. “I dunno about that,” he said. “My dreams… I mean, when I have ‘em… they’re pretty straight forward, to be honest.”

Mark smiled. “You seem very sure of that,” he said.

Miles shrugged. “I guess I have a fairly literal imagination.”

Mark raised an eyebrow and said nothing. His lips were pursed in a smirk.

Miles could feel his face heating up again under the pressure of Mark’s stare. He’d had enough. He needed an excuse to exit this uncomfortable conversation before it headed into even more dangerous territory. What the hell would Alex think if he overheard the two of them talking like this?

_Don’t flatter yourself, Kane. He probably wouldn’t even care._

Miles fought back a scowl. He shifted position on the barstool and pulled out his packet of cigarettes. “I think I’m gonna go outside for a smoke,” he said.

Mark nodded, still smirking slightly. “Of course,” he said. “Be my guest. I may not be here when you get back, but dinner will be at seven in the usual place.”

Miles tucked a cigarette behind one ear and stood up. “Thanks,” he said. He fished in his pocket for his lighter and turned to go.

“Miles?” Mark said.

Miles turned cautiously back towards the bar. “Yeah?”

“If you feel like you might fancy a drink later, I trust you’ll know where to find me.”

Mark smiled a shark-like smile, and then he closed one eye in a slow deliberate wink.

Miles’s heart jumped. It was as though he was daydreaming all over again. That explicit mental image of Mark and the bartender leapt into the forefront of his mind and smouldered like a brand right behind his eyes. There was surely no mistaking the insinuation this time. The look that Mark was giving him was plain, unambiguous, and left little room for doubt.

Miles couldn’t summon any words to respond. His tongue seemed to have swelled up to twice its normal size, and his throat felt like he’d just swallowed the Sahara Desert. He stepped backwards and half stumbled. He gave Mark an awkward nod, and then turned abruptly towards the exit. He could hear the sound of Mark chuckling quietly to himself as the door to the bar swung shut behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

Alex drifted. The insistent throbbing pain in his head was doing its damnedest to drag him back towards reality, but he wasn’t ready to go. He clung tight to the edges of sleep, floating somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, willing himself to stay in that in-between space where the world seemed so much softer, and more things seemed possible.

It was no good. His head was pounding. He let out a frustrated breath and opened his eyes to the empty hotel room. He could hear the rain pattering against the window and the sky outside was beginning to darken, but Miles had not come to call him for dinner. Perhaps Miles had decided to just let him sleep after all… or perhaps he’d just decided to go for dinner without him. Perhaps he’d decided to go for dinner with Mark instead–

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._

He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t have room for those sorts of stupid thoughts. He was writing again, and that was more important than whatever else might be going on. He couldn’t risk letting himself become distracted; if he did then he might lose it all again. He couldn’t bear for that to happen. The writing had to come first, and everything else would just have to wait.

He stood up a little unsteadily and dark colours flashed at the edges of his vision. How long had he been asleep? More to the point, when had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember. The last few days seemed to have blurred together and he’d lost track of his usual routine. He felt light-headed, which probably meant that he was hungry, although he didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. Nevertheless, some food would probably help him to function more like a human being… and then he could get back to work.

He glanced over at the table and was seized with a momentary panic when he saw that his notebook was not there, but then he saw it lying abandoned on the bed. He’d obviously gone to sleep clutching it, as though it were something precious. He scooped it up again now, ran his fingertips over the golden leaves of ivy that patterned the cover, and opened it to glance inside. His words were still there, nestled safely. Some of the pages had come a bit loose and he tucked them back in carefully before opening the bedside drawer and slipping the notebook inside beneath the hotel brochures, away from prying eyes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Miles not to look at it. It was just that he didn’t quite know where he stood with Miles right now. Some strange sort of gulf seemed to have opened up between them, and he didn’t want his new words to fall into the chasm. They were words hard won, wrenched from somewhere deep within his subconscious, and there was some part of him that didn’t want to share them with anyone, not even with Miles. He recalled the sharp sense of anxiety he’d felt when Miles had reached for the notebook. It’d been almost as awful as the look in Miles’s eyes when he’d snatched the notebook away from him.

He screwed up his face and tried to push the memory away. He hadn’t meant to hurt Miles, not deliberately. Hurting Miles was the thing that he’d tried to avoid doing at all costs… and yet somewhere along the way, all his efforts seemed to have backfired. Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should have just been honest about his feelings from the start, and said to hell with the consequences – but even the thought of doing that had made him shrivel up inside. It still did. How could he risk inflicting himself upon Miles in that way? He’d rather lose Miles completely than make him the unwillingly recipient of his own unreciprocated desires… even if it meant losing him to someone like Mark–

_Shut UP. I told you, we’re not thinking about that._

Right.

He rubbed a hand roughly across his face and pushed back his hair. There was no more time for day dreams. It was time to get his head out of cloud fucking cuckoo land and go and find some food before he passed out.

He made some pitiful attempt to gather the remains of his scattered wits, picked up Mark’s guitar and slung it over one shoulder, and then stepped out of the room and into the corridor.

* * *

Miles sat glumly at one of the empty tables in the dining room. The buffet was all laid out ready for dinner, but he couldn’t seem to summon the energy to get up and serve himself, let alone to go back upstairs and wake Alex. A small mangled heap of tobacco and paper lay on the table in front of him – the remains of a cigarette that he’d shredded to bits. He held another between his fingers and twisted it slowly back and forth.

Mark’s invitation was still echoing round in his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did that say about him as a person? He’d come on this road trip with _Alex_ – on the pretext of doing some work, yes, but the truth was that he’d hoped the trip would give them the chance to solidify their physical relationship and finally make it official. That hadn’t happened of course, and now here he was actually thinking about fucking somebody else instead. What kind of a person went on a trip with their significant other and then thought about doing that?

The cigarette that he was twisting between his fingers lost the last of its structural integrity and dissolved into a soggy mess. He tossed it on to the table and pulled a new one from the packet.

_The point is, though, that Alex _isn’t_ your significant other._

It was true, it wasn’t like they’d ever actually set out any rules. They’d certainly never agreed to be exclusive to one another. Alex didn’t have any claim over him, just as he didn’t have any claim over Alex, and in any case it had grown increasingly obvious over the last couple of days that Alex was far less invested in their romantic partnership than he was.

He crushed the cigarette between his fingers.

Lately, all Alex ever seemed to do was avoid him. He was tired of waking up in the mornings to an empty bed. He was tired of fucking in the dark with the lights off so that Alex didn’t even have to look him in the face. He was utterly fed up with the pervasive feeling of being rejected and ignored, and he certainly had no appetite to watch Alex flirt with other men whilst he sat alone on the opposite side of the room. Mark, meanwhile, actually seemed to desire his company and he’d been pretty blatant about showing it. Regardless of how Miles felt about Mark as a person, he couldn’t deny that it was nice to feel wanted for a change. It was more than nice… it was intoxicating.

_Don’t you think it’s a bit weird, though, for you to be thinking about fucking a bloke who just so happens to look exactly like the person that you’re currently sitting here pining for?_

Yeah. There was that.

He gnawed distractedly on his bottom lip. Mark’s words from the previous evening in the bar kept drifting back to him in snatches.

_I think that you want someone to take care of you._

_I think that you want to stop trying to control everything, and let someone else bear that burden for a change._

_Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe Alex just isn’t capable of giving you what you want? _

Perhaps Mark was right; perhaps Alex _wasn’t_ capable of giving him what he wanted. Over the course of the last month, ever since the change in their relationship, being with Alex had become an uphill struggle. It was exhausting, always having to keep a level head and stay in control of himself, and to go on pretending that everything was the same between them. He could never let his feelings go when he was around Alex, not anymore, not without the risk of getting hurt. He could never go to Alex and ask to be held or kissed or… anything else. It was always him who had to take the lead and make things happen, and while Alex always seemed to want him to in the moment, afterwards Miles was always left feeling vaguely adrift and alone. He still didn’t know what this thing between the two of them was… but he was pretty sure it wasn’t love. Love didn’t hide its face in the dark. Love didn’t disappear the moment that the first rays of sunlight hit the pillow.

He let out a heavy sigh and buried his face in his hands. As he saw it, he had two options. Either he could try once more to talk to Alex, and to rectify the unspoken problem of their broken relationship… or he could take Mark up on his invitation for a drink and see where it led him.

_Honestly, Kane? Those are really your only two options? _

Right. It probably wasn’t _actually_ compulsory for him to hook up with Mark… but nonetheless, he couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that wanted to. There was a part of him that wanted to a lot. And sure, it was perhaps a little disturbing that Mark looked so much like Alex… but in reality the two of them were nothing at all alike. He certainly couldn’t imagine Mark being as submissive in bed as Alex was, not if the man’s insistent flirtatiousness was anything to go by. Alex would never have pursued him with the same kind of assertive determination.

Miles was loath to admit it, but while there was something about Mark which he found a little intimidating, it was that very quality which somehow formed part of the appeal. Mark’s energy was magnetising, compelling, and even at times a little dangerous, and the thought of being with him made Miles’s pulse quicken. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to let go for once of all his fears and inhibitions and let Mark be the one to take control. His skin felt warm at the very thought of it. He had no doubt that he would probably fall apart oh so easily in Mark’s deft, capable hands…

“What the hell ‘av ya been doin’ to those cigarettes?”

The unexpected sound of Alex’s voice nearly made Miles jump out of his skin. He snatched his hands away from his eyes to find Alex standing beside the table with that bloody guitar of Mark’s still slung over his shoulder. Miles hadn’t heard him come in.

“Nuffin, wasn’t doin’ anythin’,” Miles said. He swept the crushed cigarette debris quickly into his palm and deposited it in the bin behind him.

“I thought ya said ya were goin’ to come an’ wake me for dinner?” Alex said.

“I was, I was just goin’ to.”

“Right.” Alex gave him a long look. “I’m gonna go get some food then, ya comin’?”

“Yeah, in a minute. I’m not very hungry right now.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he said. He set down the guitar, meandered over to the buffet, and then stood and stared at the food with an uncertain frown as though he was struggling to make up his mind. He looked a bit of a state. His clothes were crumpled and his hair was all in disarray from where he’d slept on it, and he still had no bloody shoes or socks on; Miles wondered when he’d last bothered to look at himself in the mirror.

Eventually Alex poured himself a coffee and came back to the table. He took a seat opposite Miles and wrapped his fingers around the mug as if to warm them.

“That’s all yer havin’?” Miles said.

Alex shrugged. “M’not hungry either,” he said.

Miles noticed that Alex’s hand shook slightly as he lifted the coffee to his lips, and he bit back the urge to tell Alex that he ought to make the effort to eat something. There was no point in trying to tell Alex what to do, he hated that and it would only make him more stubborn. Miles sighed quietly. He got up, went over to the buffet, and loaded a tray with a bowl of potato wedges and ketchup. When he sat back down again, he set the tray deliberately in the middle of the table and made a show of helping himself to the food. After a few minutes, Alex snaked out a cautious hand and took a chip between thumb and forefinger. He bit off a chunk of potato and began to chew slowly.

“So, I talked to Mark about the phone,” Miles said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He said it was an accident, just like yeh said he would. He’s gonna get someone to drive out to the nearest service station to call a rescue company for us.”

Alex nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But there’s no rush.”

Miles frowned. “How much longer are yeh really plannin’ on stayin’ here, man?” he said.

“Depends how fast Mark can teach me what I need to know.”

“And what _is_ he teachin’ yeh, exactly?”

Alex shook his head. “I told ya, it’s hard to explain. It’s like a… type of concentration or summat. It helps me figure out what I want to write about.”

“Can’t yeh figure that out for yerself?”

Alex made a face. “Apparently not.”

Miles sighed. “Yeh know yeh could just ask _me_ for help with that, right? I mean, I’d like to think I know yeh a bit better than Mark does.”

Alex blinked sluggishly and reached out for another potato wedge without responding to Miles’s question. His gaze was unfocused, as though he wasn’t really listening.

“Al?”

“What?”

Miles sighed again. Alex seemed so out of it, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. It almost certainly wasn’t a good moment to try to start a serious conversation with him – and yet Miles could feel himself pressing forward anyway. He deserved to know where he stood, didn’t he? He owed it to himself to make at least one more last ditch attempt to get Alex to talk to him, before he went off and did something stupid – something that he couldn’t take back. He inhaled a deep breath.

“I really wish yeh’d just tell me how yeh feel,” he said.

Alex looked at him blankly. “How I feel ‘bout what?”

“About us.”

Alex’s glazed expression immediately turned sharp. “Not a good time, Miles.”

“It’s fuckin’ never a good time with you,” Miles snapped.

“Keep ya voice down.”

“What for, there’s no bugger ‘ere, or didn’t yeh notice? I told yeh there was somethin’ weird goin’ on in this place – or d’yeh reckon it’s normal for a whole hotel’s worth of people to suddenly vanish into thin air?”

Alex stared at him. “I don’t bloody know, wassat got to do wi’ anythin’?”

Miles screwed his eyes shut and took another breath. “Nuffin, nuffin, forget it.” He opened his eyes again. “Will yeh please just talk to me?” he said. “I need to know how yeh feel, I need to know what it is that yeh want. Christ’s sakes, Al, can’t yeh at least _look_ at me when I’m talkin’ to yeh?” He heard the whining tone in his own voice and hated himself for it. Meanwhile, Alex had gone an unflattering shade of crimson and was looking anywhere but at him.

“Miles, I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Miles stiffened at Alex’s words. “What d’yeh mean yeh _can’t_?”

Alex just shook his head and stared miserably down into his coffee.

Miles gave him a long cold stare. “Right. Fine. I see how it is.” He stood up and shoved his chair roughly back under the table.

“Miles, wait–”

“No, Alex. I’ve had enough. I’m goin’ back upstairs. Enjoy yer dinner.”

Miles turned and strode out of the room. He could hear Alex calling him back, but he ignored it. There was nothing else to be said. As usual, Alex had made himself perfectly clear without saying anything at all.

He stamped his way back up the main staircase to the first floor, marched down the corridor to their room, and went inside, slamming the door shut behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

Alex stared blankly into space, his fingers still wrapped around the cup of coffee that had long since grown cold. The rain outside was coming down heavier than ever and it beat upon the windows as if it was trying to force its way in.

There was a heavy feeling in his chest and his eyes were sore from lack of sleep. His earlier feelings of elation and inspiration had vanished into nothing. His focus had shattered.

What was he _doing_ here? For one brief moment it’d all seemed so clear, but now once again the fog had descended and he was blindly leading himself in some unknown direction. His thoughts were a garbled mess and he couldn’t straighten them out.

The only thing he was sure about was that Miles was furious with him, and that he probably deserved it. It seemed as though every time the two of them spoke, he only managed to make things worse somehow. The heaviness in his chest grew even thicker when he thought about Miles; he wasn’t sure whether he could stomach any more of the tension between them. It was probably for the best if they just stayed out of each other’s way for a while. No doubt that was what Miles wanted as well.

He sighed heavily. This road trip had turned into a complete disaster. He’d dragged them both out to the middle of nowhere and who knew how much longer they’d be stuck here. It felt like they’d been here for weeks already, even though it had surely only been a couple of days.

And Miles was right, there _was_ something weird about this place – although what exactly was weird about it seemed suddenly hard to put his finger on.

Obviously the décor was hideous and the location left a lot to be desired, but was it that, or was there something else? His memories felt strangely cloudy when he tried to think back to what had bothered him about the hotel when they’d first arrived. All he could seem to pinpoint now was a vague sense of unease, but that was a feeling which’d become so ubiquitous of late that he’d almost ceased to notice it.

No… perhaps in the end he’d been mistaken. Perhaps it was just a hotel, no weirder than any other. Just an ordinary hotel, in the middle of the woods, by the side of the highway.

He screwed up his eyes. It felt like someone was knocking on the inside of his skull. He had the nagging feeling that there was something important which he’d forgotten. He wished he could ask Miles. Miles would know. Perhaps he actually just ought to go upstairs and find him…

“Good evening, Alex.”

Alex flinched and opened his eyes to find Mark smiling down at him. Mark was dressed in a tailored beige lounge suit with a white shirt left open at the throat, and his hair seemed darker than ever with all the gel he’d used to slick it back.

Alex glanced back down at his cold coffee. He muttered a half-hearted greeting, but it came out sounding more like a non-committal grunt.

Mark stood there for a second, and then he took a seat in the spot where Miles had been sitting just before. “Is there something wrong?” he said.

Alex shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Feel like shit, I guess.”

“Lack of sleep?”

Alex grunted again. “Had a nap earlier,” he said.

Mark gave him an appraising look. “Trouble in paradise, then?”

Alex returned Mark’s look with a glare. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

Mark lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Fair enough, I take it that’s a touchy subject. Would you perhaps like to do something to take your mind off things?”

“I don’t wanna go for a drink wi’ ya.”

Mark looked faintly amused. “Actually,” he said, “I was going to offer to teach you some more visualisation techniques – if you’re not too tired that is. I have a free evening and I was going to spend it playing guitar anyway, so you’re more than welcome to join me.”

Alex frowned. “Why would ya wanna waste your night off teachin’ me?”

“It’s no trouble. I said I would help you, and I will.” Mark smiled and lifted an eyebrow. “Besides,” he said. “It’s not as though I’m averse to your company, although I fully appreciate that the feeling is not mutual.”

Alex stared back at him. Mark still looked amused, as though Alex’s hostility towards him was nothing more than an entertaining joke. Alex felt his hackles rise in response. He had a strong urge to wipe that smug smile right off Mark’s face. He forced himself to swallow the feeling back down. Mark had been helpful to him earlier, and he was probably only trying to be helpful now, and all Alex was giving him in return was a bad attitude.

But then again, why shouldn’t he? As far as Alex was concerned, Mark had pretty much forfeited all his rights to common courtesy. He’d done it last night by making a pass at Miles in the bar.

Alex gritted his teeth as that particular recollection sent a fresh wave of anger surging into his throat. No, he wouldn’t waste any time in feeling guilty for his bad attitude or his rudeness. If Mark had really cared about him being civil and respectful, then he would have thought twice about hitting on Miles and kept his bloody hands to himself.

Alex’s frown deepened._ But are you sure he was really hitting on Miles?_

Well… perhaps he wasn’t one hundred percent sure… but that didn’t stop his jaw from tightening at the memory of the casual way that Mark had brushed his fingers across Miles’s cheek, as though he had every right to touch Miles there.

_You’re being ridiculous. If Mark was stroking Miles’s cheek then you can bet it was only because Miles let him do it._

He swallowed. That was the part that hurt the most, of course. Miles was his own man and made his own choices, at least when Alex wasn’t there to interfere… and maybe, after all, Miles had decided to choose Mark. It wasn’t as though it was much of a contest, at the end of the day. If Alex’d had to choose between himself and Mark, he would’ve chosen Mark too… and wasn’t _that_ thought just one more litre of fuel on the fire of his growing resentment.

Unfortunately, much as it burned him to admit it, he still needed Mark’s help to overcome his writer’s block. That meant that for the time being, he would just have to bite his tongue and play nice, and try as much as he could to give Mark the benefit of the doubt. After all, there was still a slight possibility that he’d misinterpreted the situation, a sliver of a chance that Mark wasn’t actually being this teeth-grindingly aggravating on purpose.

Alex let out a long bitter sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not really feelin’ meself right now.”

The words sounded forced and awkward, but Mark’s smile brightened nonetheless. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Why don’t you grab yourself another coffee and we’ll head back upstairs?”

Alex vacillated for another brief moment, but it wasn’t as though he had any alternative plans. He certainly wasn’t ready to go back up to the room and face Miles. “Yeah, alright then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He forwent the coffee, picked up the guitar and followed Mark out of the dining room towards the lift.

* * *

Room 521 was dark inside when Mark unlocked the door, but when he flicked the switch on the wall the light came on straight away. It was a soft, muted light, for which Alex was grateful; he didn’t quite have a headache any longer, but his brain still felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool and sawdust.

He took a seat on the bench, one leg on each side just as before, and he adopted an attitude of staring out of the window while Mark busied himself tuning up one of the guitars. He took a couple of deep breaths. His skin had begun to prickle at the thought of letting Mark send him back to… wherever the hell it was that Mark had sent him to last time, but despite his nerves he could also feel a growing sense of anticipation. He wasn’t really sure how any of this worked yet, but the fact was that it _did_ work, and any reservations that he felt towards the process, and towards Mark himself, seemed far less important than the fact that he was writing again, all thanks to this new technique. The method that Mark was teaching him might be a bit unsettling and strange, but there was no doubt in his mind that it had to be worth it.

He coughed to clear his throat. “So,” he said. “How are we doing this?”

Mark smiled. He put his guitar down and came over to the bench. “I thought we’d try something a little different this time,” he said. “You can put down the guitar, you won’t need it for a while.”

Alex felt his wariness ramp up a notch, but he set the guitar to one side anyway and clasped his hands loosely in his lap. “What’ve ya got in mind?” he said.

Mark sat down facing him on the bench. “Do you remember me telling you that I could teach you how to access your unconscious without the use of touch?”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, vaguely.”

“Well, that’s what we’re going to try.” Mark said. He moved forwards slightly. “This is going to involve you visualising things as I describe them to you. Can you do that?”

“Should I close me eyes?”

“Feel free, if it helps.”

Alex frowned for a moment, but then went ahead and closed his eyes.

“Okay,” Mark said. “I want you to imagine that you’re walking down a long corridor. The corridor is empty and there are closed doors on both sides of you. Tell me when you can see it.”

Alex concentrated. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said.

“Good. Keep walking until you get to the end of the corridor. When you get there, you’ll see a section of blank wall on the right-hand side – an empty space with no door. Do you see that?”

Alex frowned again. His brain was not behaving itself. The corridor in his mind’s eye was starting to branch out in all directions and he felt more like he was walking through a maze than a hallway. The doors on either side were beckoning to him and he itched to stop and open them to find out what lay beyond.

“Alex, are you all right?”

“M’fine, just havin’ some trouble focusin’,”

“May I help you?”

Alex tried his best not to scowl. He would really have rather done without Mark’s assistance, but as things stood his insomnia-addled brain was not cooperating with him. He was becoming more and more lost in a labyrinth of his own imagination.

“Fine,” he said. “Knock yourself out.”

He heard Mark shift closer on the bench and then he felt the gentle press of Mark’s fingers against his forehead. Almost instantly, his mind quietened; the imaginary maze shrank back down to a single corridor, and there at the end of it was a blank space of wall just as Mark had described.

“How do you _do_ that?” Alex said, half under his breath.

Mark chuckled softly. “It’s easier to find your way once you know where you want to go,” he said.

Alex snorted. “Very philosophical. Doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Concentrate, Alex.”

“Fine.”

Alex felt the skin on his forehead begin to tingle and he fought off a shiver. He kept his eyes shut. “So, I see the empty bit of wall,” he said. “What now?”

Mark exhaled slowly. “I want you to create a doorway in that wall,” he said.

Alex hesitated. “What d’ya mean?”

“I mean,” Mark said, “that I want you to imagine that you’re bringing a door into existence where that empty space is. Can you do that?”

“I think– I dunno, probably.”

“Try,” Mark said. “And describe to me what you see.”

Alex took a deep breath. He began to visualise the outline of a door against the imaginary wall. He pictured a doorframe made of white wood, and then the door itself came into focus. It was black with a brass plated handle, and spilling out from beneath the crack at the bottom was a strange red light. A strangely _familiar_ red light.

“What do you see?” Mark said. His voice sounded oddly breathless.

“I see a black door. But there’s something weird–”

“Never mind that,” Mark said. “Is it clear in your mind? Is it solid?”

“Yeah, I mean– yeah, it’s not gonna get any clearer.”

Mark breathed out in a rush. “Open your eyes and look,” he said.

Alex opened his eyes. He inhaled sharply. “What–?”

“Sssh, keep concentrating.”

Alex felt a flash of heat against his skin as Mark increased the pressure of his fingers. He stared in horrified awe at the thing that had materialised in the middle of the room. It was a black door with a brass plated handle. It hung there in space, attached to nothing, and from around its edges glowed that same eerie red light.

“What the fuck is _that_?” Alex said in a shocked whisper. “Where did it come from?”

“_You_ created it, Alex,” Mark said. “It’s yours.” He was whispering too, and he sounded as though he’d just finished running a marathon.

Alex looked back at him and saw that Mark’s face was flushed with effort and his eyes were almost glowing. “What d’ya mean, it’s _mine_?” he said.

Mark attempted a smile but it came closer to a grimace. “Behind that door is… is everything you desire,” he said. “Go… go and open it and see for yourself.”

“Fuck that, man, m’not goin’ near that thing.”

Mark made a pained sound at the back of his throat. “That door will show you your _dreams_,” he said. “Isn’t that… what you want? Don’t you want to be able to write again?”

“Yeah, but–”

“All I’m showing you is what you want, Alex,” Mark said. “All you need to… to do is take it.”

Alex wavered. The red light around the edges of the floating door grew brighter. It spread out across the carpet like a stain.

“I’m going to let go of you,” Mark said. “Stay focused.” He drew in a shuddering breath and then pulled his fingers away from Alex’s face. The door shimmered for a moment in the air, but then it grew solid again. It was blacker than ever, and now it seemed to pulse with a faint energy. It buzzed with a high pitched whine that lay just on the cusp of hearing.

Alex brought both of his legs to the same side of the bench. He stood up shakily. “Ya want me to just…?” He waved his hand vaguely at the door.

Mark nodded. He looked pale and drained, but his eyes were bright. “Open it,” he said.

Alex took a tiny, hesitant step towards the dark door-shaped object hanging in the air before him. His heart was jackhammering in his chest and he was filled with the strangest sense of déjà vu. He took another small step forwards. He reached out a hand towards the brass plated handle.

_ALEX!_

Alex flinched. The voice was a _scream_ in the centre of his brain. He stumbled backwards as though shoved by some invisible force, and then a blinding stab of pain ripped his thoughts apart.

Everything went white. He felt his knees buckle and he heard himself cry out as he collapsed to the floor, landing with a thump that pushed all the air out of his body. He struggled for breath as the pain pierced him like a needle, the scream still ricocheting through his consciousness and tearing him to bits. It was almost inhuman and it went on and on, though he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself and shoved his fists in his ears.

He was half aware that he was being shaken by the arm, but he couldn’t move. He could only hold himself still, try to breathe, try not to shatter into a thousand broken pieces.

He’d no idea how much time passed like this. It felt like aeons; centuries.

When the pain at last began to dissipate, he found he was still being shaken. The ringing in his ears faded out, and now he could hear Mark’s frantic voice saying his name over and over.

“Alex? Alex?”

He opened his eyes. Mark was crouched down beside him and the grip that he had on Alex’s arm was painful.

“What–?” Alex started to speak but his tongue tasted like metal. He looked up, past Mark’s shoulder, and saw that the floating black door was gone.

Mark gave him another shake. “_Alex_, are you all right? What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Alex said. He felt Mark cup a hand around his upper arm and he allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position. “It were…. it were something _screamin’_ at me. In me head, like. Just this horrible _noise_.”

All the colour seemed to have leeched out of Mark’s face. “What noise?” he said. “What did it sound like?”

“I dunno… it just _hurt_.”

Mark stared at him for a moment in silence. “I think– I think maybe we need a break,” he said. “Let’s… um… let’s go and get a drink perhaps. We can try this again at another point.”

Alex allowed Mark to help him to his feet. His head was still throbbing. It felt like he had a major migraine coming on. “But what _happened_, what _was_ that?” he said. He took a step, stumbled, and Mark caught him by the elbow.

“Easy,” Mark said. He looked around the room as if searching for something, but there was nothing there apart from the two of them and the pile of instruments. “Don’t worry,” he said finally. “Just leave it to me. I’ll… I’ll sort it.”

Alex nodded vaguely. He’d never seen Mark look this ill at ease. Mark’s usual confidence and poise had morphed into a hunch-shouldered, cringing posture that made him look like a completely different person. He was still grey in the face and he kept glancing around with a hunted look, as though he was expecting someone to reach out and make a grab for him.

“Are you… okay?” Alex said.

Mark looked at him and seemed to come back to some sort of self-awareness. He straightened up. “Of course, I’m fine,” he said. “Come on, you look exhausted. Why don’t we go downstairs and find you some refreshments?”

Alex shrugged weakly and let Mark lead him out of the room.

Mark locked the door behind them with a firm click. He paused and took a breath. “You can lean on me,” he said. “If you like.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but as he took another step forward he found himself wobbling again. His legs were barely holding him up. “Um…” he said. “Actually, that might help.”

Mark nodded and held out his arm at an angle. Alex placed his forearm awkwardly in the crook of Mark’s elbow and allowed Mark to take his weight. Once he was settled, Mark began to steer them both slowly back down the corridor and towards the waiting lift.


	18. Chapter 18

_The door was closed, but warm light spilled from underneath. Miles stood and breathed in and out quietly in the dark hallway. His body was tense. His arms were stiff by his sides._

_Should he knock? Should he leave?_

_He shifted from foot to foot, caught in a paralysis of indecision. _

_The door swung inwards before him. _

_The yellow light spilled out and pooled on the hallway carpet and his feet moved forward of their own accord. He stepped across the threshold, into the room, and into the arms of the man there waiting for him._

_“Miles,” the man said, his voice a sultry whisper against Miles’s ear. “So glad you could come.”_

_Miles looked back into a familiar face; into dark brown eyes flecked with impossible blue. Mark laid both his hands on Miles’s neck, pulled him in close… and kissed him._

* * *

Miles awoke with a sharp intake of breath. He lay very still, staring up at the ceiling. The dawn light was beginning to creep out from the edges of the curtains, but otherwise the room remained in shadow. He ran his tongue carefully over his lower lip. It tasted woody, like a forest just after a rain storm. He could almost feel the ghostly pressure of unseen lips against his mouth.

He’d never had dreams like this before. They were like memories of things that had never happened. They had a solidness to them, a reality so vivid that it threw his whole perception of what reality was into doubt.

Mark had never touched him, never kissed him – in his mind he knew that to be true; but his body was telling him otherwise. His body was telling him that he knew exactly how it would feel to have Mark’s lips moving against his own, and what it would be like to have Mark pressed close against him, all skin and teeth and sinew.

Because the truth was slowly dawning on him now. He’d been a fool not to realise it sooner. Ever since they’d arrived at this hotel, it hadn’t been Alex that he’d been dreaming about at all. The man in his dreams, surely, was Mark.

Perhaps ‘dreams’ wasn’t even the right word. The visions in his mind felt more like premonitions than dreams. They seemed to carry the weight of an inevitable future; a future which was moving ever closer to the present. He felt almost powerless to stop it. Or perhaps the simple truth was that he didn’t want to stop it. And after all, why should he? Alex had made his feelings about their relationship perfectly clear. Why was he wasting his time waiting for Alex when he had the chance to be with someone who actually wanted him, and who wasn’t afraid to say so?

_You know why._

He clenched his jaw. No, he would not think that thought. He would bury it beneath layers of self-subterfuge, distraction and denial. It was a choice between burying it or else going mad. He just couldn’t live with that kind of pain.

He hoisted himself up into a sitting position and leant back against the pillows. He was alone in the bed, as he’d expected. If Alex had been back to the room at some point, Miles hadn’t been aware of it. He had a strong suspicion that Alex had in fact stayed away all night. Who the hell knew where he’d slept instead… or if he’d even slept at all.

Miles sighed and cast his eyes around the room, and that was when his gaze fell upon a shadowy shape that lay hunched over the table. His breath caught and a spike of adrenaline slammed him into full wakefulness. The shape was moving. The shape was… breathing.

He flung back the covers and stood up. “Alex?”

There was no response, but he could see now that it _was_ Alex, fast asleep in the chair and leaning awkwardly across the table, his cheek resting upon the open pages of a notebook and his fist still clenched around a pen.

Miles went to him. “Jesus, Al,” he muttered under his breath. “What the fuck were yeh doin’?”

He eased the notebook out from beneath Alex’s face. Every page was full but the writing was mostly illegible. It looked as though Alex had written over the top of his previous words and the ink had bled into itself to create an indecipherable mess. Alex had smudges of ink all over his cheek and his forehead too, and was that actually a _blister_ on the index finger of his right hand? How bloody long had he been writing?

That was when Miles noticed the state of the table itself. It was covered with illegible scribble, just like the notebook… as though Alex had run out of paper but kept on writing anyway. His words covered the entirety of the wooden surface, and now Miles could see that the handwriting extended up past the table and on to the wall as well.

_Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ._

Miles shook Alex gently by the shoulder. “Al, wake up.”

Alex sighed and screwed up his face, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Alex, come on.”

Alex gave no sign that he’d heard. He continued to lie there awkwardly, his face pale and pinched looking. His eyelids flickered as though he was dreaming.

Miles let out a shaky breath. There was something very wrong with this picture. He’d never seen Alex like this, ever – not even in his most prolific writing moods. Even when Alex was feeling really inspired, he still always managed to remember to eat and sleep. What the hell had happened to put him into this strange obsessive state?

Well, whatever it was, Miles couldn’t leave him like this.

He leaned down and hooked one arm around Alex’s waist and the other beneath his legs. It was a struggle at this angle, but after a couple of false starts, Miles managed to lift him.

“Come on, here we go,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else as Alex didn’t stir. Miles carried him carefully across the room to the bed and laid him down. Fortunately Alex was wearing only his white hotel robe and Miles managed to undress him without too much difficulty.

He folded the robe in half and was about to chuck it on the bed when his fingers closed over something hard and angular in the left-hand pocket. He frowned, reached inside, and pulled out a key attached to a fob. It bore the name of the hotel and a room number – number 521.

_That must be the room where Mark keeps his instruments. That’s where Al’s been all night._

Miles’s frown turned into a scowl. He didn’t think he was leaping to conclusions in deducing that Alex’s current state was a direct result of whatever Alex and Mark had been doing together in that room. What the hell did Mark think he was playing at anyway, keeping Alex awake all bloody night when the kid had chronic insomnia? Miles had a good mind to go and give him a clip round the fucking ear.

He looked down at the key in his hand.

_Or maybe I’ll just go and check out this room 521 for myself. _

Yeah, why not? After all, perhaps it might give him some insight into what on earth Alex had been doing with all his time since he’d started avoiding Miles’s company. It was still early, but it wasn’t as though he was going to get any more sleep now – not after dealing with this whole fucking palaver. He was too fucking wired.

He looked back down at Alex, who was still lying there completely unconscious. His face was creased in a frown and his mouth was turned down slightly at the corners. The familiar ache in Miles’s chest grew stronger at the sight of him. He sighed and pulled the covers over Alex’s sleeping form, tucking them in around him just a little. He smoothed Alex’s tangled hair back from his face and ran his fingers through it to remove the worst of the knots, and then he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Alex’s temple.

_You just can’t fucking help yourself, can you?_

Miles ground his teeth together. His brain really needed to shut the hell up.

He dressed quickly in the half-light of the brightening morning and shoved the key to room 521 in his pocket. He crept quietly out of the room, leaving Alex asleep in the bed.

* * *

Miles made his way cautiously down the fifth floor corridor, taking extra care to be silent as he walked past room 507 – the room that was apparently Mark’s. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Mark was asleep inside, perhaps lying there naked between black silk sheets…

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was best not to speculate. He was here on a mission and he would not allow himself to become distracted.

He reached room 521 at the very end of the corridor. The key slid home without a hitch and turned easily, and he pushed the door open. He stepped inside, hit the light switch… and stopped, frowning.

This was… Mark’s music room?

Alex had said that the room would be full of guitars and mandolins and things, but there was nothing in here at all except for a large bank of monitors attached to a long desk. They looked very similar to the monitors that Miles had seen before, in Mark’s office. The room looked to be another, larger CCTV monitoring station for the hotel and its grounds. But why on earth would Mark have given Alex the key to _this_ room?

He approached the desk and noticed more of those small television sets lying scattered about the floor. Every single screen in the room was alight with silent static images – images that were starting to become familiar. There were at least ten or more monitors showing that strange orange corridor, and a similar number which showed the distant Earth as seen from the pocked grey surface of the moon.

Once again, he could also see the various rooms of the hotel, like the lobby and the casino – but there were newer images too, ones which he didn’t recognise. They looked to be of some other hotel, perhaps in Vegas or somewhere like that judging from the neon lighting and tasteless decor in most of the rooms. But why? It didn’t really make a lot of sense.

And then one particular screen caught his eye. It was showing an image of something very familiar indeed… but no, that couldn’t possibly be right. It had to be a mistake. He moved closer towards the screen, until he was standing a mere hand’s distance away from the picture. It wasn’t a mistake.

That was Alex’s car, parked up on the side of the highway.

But how could that possibly be an image of Alex’s car? There were no cameras out there. There was nothing except for scrub and forest and bleached grass. Besides, the distance and angle of the picture suggested that the camera would have to have been floating in the middle of the damn road. There was nothing there for it to hang from – nothing but air.

He blinked hard, but the image didn’t waver. It wasn’t possible. It _shouldn’t_ have been possible.

There was a growing tightness in his chest, as if someone was squeezing him and making it hard to breathe. If that really _was_ a camera shot of their car, did that mean that someone in the hotel had actually seen them break down? Had someone been in here, watching them?

He stepped back from the monitors and looked around. The room was silent but for the steady hum of the electrical equipment and an occasional intermittent beeping sound. He cast his eyes over the desk itself, frowned, and began to pull open each of the drawers by turn. Each one was full of yet more equipment; spare cables, adaptors, fuses, and even what looked to be a small battery powered generator. However, there was nothing which offered any clues as to what any of this stuff was actually being used for.

He closed the drawers, stepped over the television sets and skirted around the desk to look behind it. His gaze fell upon another door, set into the wall at the very back of the room. It had to be an internal door of some kind, perhaps leading to a storage area or a utility cupboard; or perhaps there was an office back there, with files or paperwork or _something_ that might explain what the hell was going on here.

Miles looked back once over his shoulder, but he was still alone. He pressed his mouth into a tight line, walked swiftly over to the door in the far wall and grabbed hold of the brass plated handle.

It wouldn’t turn.

The door was locked.

He hesitated for a second, and then pulled out the key for room 521.

_Don’t be stupid. Why would the same key unlock both doors?_

He pursed his lips and fitted the key to the lock anyway. It slid home, turned, and there was a soft clicking sound. He pocketed the key once more and rubbed a hand across his mouth. He could taste the sweat on his upper lip. He took hold of the door handle a second time, and twisted.

The door swung silently inwards and he stepped over the threshold into… a room that to all intents and purposes looked identical to the one he’d just left. Facing away from him was another bank of monitors as well as more television sets littering the floor, and there on the opposite side of the room was another door.

_Curiouser and fucking curiouser. _

Well, he’d come this far, there wasn’t much point in turning back now.

He crossed the room, inching his way around the desk and stepping over the television sets, until he reached the second door. This time the handle turned easily enough and he stepped out of the room and into a luminously bright orange tiled corridor. He recognised it at once. It was the same corridor that he’d been seeing on all the monitors… but something was wrong. The corridor was too wide and high; how could it possibly be contained within the structure of the building? Unless his spatial awareness was having a seriously fucked up day, this corridor was far bigger and wider than the room which he’d just left, and far bigger and wider than any hotel corridor had any _right_ to be.

But the most insanely impossible thing was the fact that the ceiling above him was _curved_. It arched above his head just like the roof of a tunnel. A wide fluorescent strip glowed whitely down the centre of it, while the corridor itself stretched and swooped away into the distance, gently banking to the left and disappearing around a corner.

There was a noise coming from that direction. It sounded like… music.

He took a couple of cautious steps further into the (_tunnel_) corridor and listened.

Someone was playing the piano.

It was not a pleasing sound. The instrument was obviously in dire need of tuning and the result was an eerie sounding melody that pricked jarringly against his ears. As he listened, an involuntary shiver ran down his neck. The skin on both his arms quivered into goose bumps.

_Okay. That’s enough._

He wasn’t a complete idiot, after all. He wasn’t about to go wandering off down an architecturally implausible tunnel in search of some creepy broken piano. He’d seen more than enough scary movies to know a stupid idea when it was staring him right in the face.

He retraced his steps in the direction he’d come from and went back into the room. He needed to get back to Alex asap and tell him what he’d seen – and there’d be no arguments this time. He was taking Alex with him, even if he had to carry him, and getting them both the hell out of this place right fucking now.

He picked his way back through the television sets, stepped around the desk and–

There was nothing there.

The wall in front of him was completely devoid of any distinguishing feature.

The door back to room 521 was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

Alex opened his eyes to murky daylight. For a minute his mind remained utterly blank and he had no idea where he was. The bed he was in seemed unfamiliar, the room even more so. He sat up and the sudden movement made him wince. His head felt like a twenty pound bag of wet sand. He glanced around, trying not to panic, and eventually spotted a heap of familiar paraphernalia on the bedside table – Miles’s lighter, cigarettes, and the book he’d been reading.

_Miles. _

Alex grimaced as his memory began to return in bits and pieces. No wonder he felt so heavy. He’d stayed awake nearly all night doing repetitive visualisation exercises with Mark. He’d stayed up for far longer than necessary because he hadn’t wanted to come back to the room and face another argument with Miles.

He was here now though, for some reason. He didn’t remember coming back. He definitely didn’t remember going to bed. And where the hell was Miles anyway? It wasn’t like him to be an early riser.

Alex reached for his watch to check the time. Shit. It was almost 2pm – not so early after all. Miles had probably been up for hours.

_Yeah, and he didn’t bother to wake you. Not even for lunch._

Alex swallowed. Miles was clearly still angry with him after their argument last night. In fact, angry was probably an understatement. If Miles was actually going to the trouble of ignoring him, that meant that things between them were far worse than Alex had imagined. Miles was just no _good_ at giving anyone the cold shoulder. He’d always been the type of person to prefer a blazing row over the silent treatment, at least in his relationships with other people. And as for the two of them… well the two of them had never actually fallen out before. Not really. Bickering and silly disagreements, yes, obviously, but never a full blown fight. Not like this.

The silence in the room suddenly felt very loud. His watch was the only sound. It ticked past the seconds one after another, cutting the time into ever more tiny fragments that seemed to settle all around him like sediment.

He didn’t know how to fix this. He couldn’t exactly go looking for Miles, what would be the point? There was nothing he could possibly say to him that would make things right. He’d let this thing between them go on for so long now that any explanations or apologies would be all but meaningless.

The truth was that he’d been in denial, all this time. He’d attempted to dismiss his fears about their relationship as an elaborate fantasy, and he’d convinced himself that letting Miles take the lead between them would mitigate any risk and absolve him of any half-imagined transgression – but he couldn’t do that anymore. Not after last night. Not after he’d somehow managed to conjure that… that _door_… out of thin air, just by visualising it, just by _wanting_ to. Every paranoid fear about his own mental influence had suddenly become solid reality.

What might’ve happened if he’d let his imagination get carried away like that around Miles? The very thought made his stomach turn unpleasantly. He ought never to have let Miles kiss him in the first place. He ought never to have given in to his own selfish temptations. It was probably for the best if he stayed as far away from Miles as possible – at least until Mark could teach him how to control this thing. Right now, his desires were too unruly and he just couldn’t trust himself. His priority, now more than ever, had to be to protect Miles, and if that meant staying away from him, then so be it.

He rubbed a fist across his eyes and ignored the growing tightness in his throat. He needed to get up, and dressed, that was all. He needed to find Mark and get back to work. He’d already wasted enough valuable time sleeping.

He pushed back the covers and stood up. All the blood immediately rushed to his head and he had to sit down again until the dizziness subsided. On the second attempt he managed to get himself to the bathroom for a quick two minute shower, which made him feel more human again, but only slightly. He dressed in his, by now, extremely crumpled clothes and dug through his pockets for his cigarettes. Miles would probably have told him to go and find something to eat, but Alex still had very little appetite and for the time being a smoke would do just as well.

He tucked a cigarette behind one ear and pocketed Miles’s lighter. Hopefully Mark was up and about by now, and ready to carry on with what they’d been doing last night. The two of them hadn’t returned to room 521 in the end, but had instead stayed downstairs in the bar doing their visualisation exercises in a quiet corner. Alex ran a hand gingerly over his forehead and winced. The skin there felt almost bruised from the repetitive tapping and pressing of Mark’s fingers.

At least there had been no further talk of conjuring creepy looking doors. He couldn’t pretend that he was looking forward to trying _that_ particular experiment again. He could sense that Mark seemed to think it was the key to everything, but the reason for that remained a mystery. As far as Alex was concerned, the forehead tapping exercises that Mark had already shown him seemed like a far more effective solution to his writer’s block. That technique had given him tangible inspiration for his whole song writing process, and the feeling he got from doing it was like a long drawn out epiphany.

Summoning the weird door hadn’t felt like that at all. It’d left him with an oddly disconnected feeling that he couldn’t quite explain. It was as though the door had proved the existence of some unknown place beyond the boundaries of what he considered to be normal reality, and though he had not yet stepped over that threshold, the knowledge that such a place existed at all was enough to give him a strange, seasick feeling in his stomach. Reality wasn’t supposed to have edges. It was supposed to be all-encompassing. It was supposed to be solid and predictable.

Still… if summoning a creepy looking door was what it took to get him to a place where he could finally master his own creative process, then he would do it. He would do whatever was necessary to be able to write again… and if Mark could also teach him how to control the outward projections of his subconscious mind, then maybe he’d finally be able to talk to Miles too. He couldn’t make up for what had happened between them, but perhaps there was something he could do or say to at least patch up the fracture in their damaged relationship. After that, it would be up to Miles to decide if he wanted anything more to do with him. 

Alex sighed heavily. Sometimes, his creative desires and his desire for Miles seemed like opposite faces of the same coin; perhaps because, as things stood, he could express neither one adequately. There was a part of him that wondered whether it was even possible to express one without the other. He and Miles had become so intertwined over the years, first creatively and now… in this new way. The current rift between them felt deeper and more acute than any other separation he’d experienced. It felt as though he was losing a part of himself, and the longer it went on, the more the cracks were beginning to show.

He thrust his hair back roughly from his face. It was doing him no good to dwell on these thoughts. The only way out of this dilemma was to take back control of himself by learning the techniques that Mark was teaching him. He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear, clamped it resolutely between his lips, and left the room in search of the aggravating and yet peculiarly gifted hotel manager.

* * *

He found Mark nursing a large mug of black coffee downstairs in the dining room. The room was empty of other guests, and the light that leaked in from the windows was dull and grey. It had barely stopped raining at all for the past three days.

Mark was staring into space with a somewhat vacant expression. His fingers flexed around the coffee mug and he gnawed on his bottom lip, as though deep in thought. Several strands of his dark, gelled-back hair had escaped from his attempt to style them and had fallen across his forehead, giving him a strangely unkempt appearance which seemed incongruous with the formality of his dress style. His suit this morning was a muted brown colour and he’d paired it with another of those crisp white shirts left unbuttoned to just below the collarbone.

Alex cleared his throat. He raised his eyebrows when Mark visibly jumped.

“Oh,” Mark said. “It’s you. Good morning, Alex.”

“Mornin’,” Alex said. He took a seat at Mark’s table and pulled out Miles’s lighter. “Mind if I smoke inside? It’s pissin’ it down out there.”

Mark made a dismissive gesture. “Go right ahead,” he said.

“Thanks.” Alex cupped his hands to his face, lit up, and inhaled deeply. “What’s the plan for today, then?”

“The plan?” Mark frowned for a moment, but then his expression cleared. “Oh, I see. Well, I thought we could continue along more or less the same lines as yesterday.”

“Are ya gonna get me to make another of them… door things?”

Mark shook his head quickly. “No, no, not yet. I don’t think we’re quite ready for that. I need to teach you how to sustain the connection to your unconscious for longer periods without so much reliance on my assistance.”

Alex frowned and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “How long’s that gonna take?”

“It’s not about time, Alex, it’s about quality of practice. Having said that, I do think there’s a way that we might be able to speed up your progress a little. It’s just a suggestion, but if you’re willing–”

“What is it?”

“Well,” Mark said. “How would you feel about taking my place in the house band tonight?”

“Do your show, ya mean? How would that help?”

“It would give you a chance to perform some of the new material you’ve been writing, for a start. It’s all very well me giving you exercises to do, but you won’t really learn how to express yourself in this new way until you perform your own songs to a live audience.”

Alex twisted his cigarette between his fingers. “I dunno, man. I’m not sure me work is ready for public consumption yet.”

Mark smiled. “I think you’ll find that the audiences here are very receptive.”

“Okay, fair enough, but… m’not exactly dressed for it, am I?”

Mark sat up straighter and suddenly furnished Alex with his full attention. Alex shifted uncomfortably as Mark gave him a long, slow once-over, obviously taking in the state of his outfit, his hair, everything. He glanced away and took another drag on his cigarette.

After a pause, Mark said, “I think I may have a solution. Why don’t we go upstairs?”

* * *

Mark unlocked the door to room 507 and ushered Alex inside. It was a medium-sized room with similar décor to the one that Alex was sharing with Miles, minus the four poster bed with the fancy drapes and the ornate chest of drawers. The furniture here was a little more basic, being comprised of just an ordinary double bed, a desk and a wardrobe. There were no personal effects lying about, and the bed didn’t look as if it’d been slept in, and yet something instinctively told Alex that this must be Mark’s private room.

His suspicion was confirmed when Mark strode across to the wardrobe and pulled it open to reveal an array of beige, cream and grey suits. They hung in a neat row, each of them cut in a similar style to the one which Mark was currently wearing.

“Take your pick,” Mark said. “Something tells me we may be the same size.” He winked and Alex couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“We’re makin’ jokes about this now, are we?” he said.

Mark chuckled. “Well, it does strike me as somewhat amusing that you’ll be taking my place on stage tonight and nobody is going to know the difference. Perhaps I’ll take a holiday.”

Alex felt the corner of his mouth lift into the merest fraction of a smile. He pressed his lips into a tight line so that Mark wouldn’t see it.

Mark pulled out one of the dark grey suits. “How about this one?” he said. “I can lend you a shirt and shoes to go with it.”

Alex took the proffered suit and waited as Mark selected the matching accessories and then handed them over to him as well.

“Bathroom’s over there if you want to try everything on,” Mark said.

“Yeah… alright then.”

Alex stepped into the small ensuite, discarded his crumpled clothes and redressed himself in Mark’s suit. He stared at himself in the mirror and scowled. The suit was, of course, a perfect fit, but somehow he felt it would have looked far better on Mark than it did on him. Mark was just generally better put together than he was. Mark didn’t slouch and he didn’t have bags under his eyes either.

“Come on then, let’s have a look,” Mark called from the other room.

Alex sighed. He stepped out of the bathroom and walked back over to the wardrobe. “Well?” he said. “What do you think?”

Mark grinned at him. “I may be biased,” he said. “But I think you look pretty good.”

Alex couldn’t quite suppress a smile this time. “Oh shut up,” he said.

Mark reached both hands towards Alex’s neck, and Alex almost stepped backwards, but then he realised that Mark was just turning down his shirt collar. “There,” Mark said. “Perfect.”

Alex raised his eyebrows in a question. “So,” he said. “Now what?”

“Well, why don’t we head down to the bar and I’ll show you the stage set-up?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mark grinned again. “Lead the way, then, Alex.”


	20. Chapter 20

Miles swept his hand over the wall for the fourth time, but there was still nothing to suggest that a door had ever been there. The wall was completely solid plaster, not a single dent or crack.

He took a step backwards, breathing heavily. The panic was bubbling up in his throat and if he didn’t take some serious measures to calm down, it was going to overwhelm him. He crouched, sat down and put his head between his knees. He forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. It was a technique that Alex had shown him once – a trick from the old days for whenever Alex had been dealing with stage fright.

Stage fright had never really been a problem for Miles, since most of the time he felt more comfortable on the stage than off it, but he’d made a mental note of the knowledge anyway, just in case it ever came in handy. It was coming in fucking handy now.

He took another gulp of air, breathed out slowly, and repeated the rhythm until he felt moderately calmer. He was still conscious of his own heartbeat, and his shirt was sticking to him with sweat, but he was lucid. He could function.

He got slowly to his feet.

He had to think rationally about this. Obviously, there was no going back the way he had come, and he couldn’t exactly just stay here and do nothing. That meant he would have to go in search of an alternative way out – it was the only choice left to him.

He sucked in a breath, turned away from the wall and walked back across the room. He stepped out into the (_too big, too wide_) orange-tiled tunnel and stood still, listening. He could still hear the off-key tinkling of the piano, which meant that there had to be someone around here playing it, and perhaps that someone would be able to tell him the way out.

He took another deep breath and began to make his way cautiously down the tunnel in the direction of the unsettling music. The strip light running down the centre of the ceiling was very bright and it made the orangeness of the walls unpleasant to look at. The low hum of what sounded like an air conditioning unit was coming from somewhere above him, coupled with a faint breeze.

The sound of the piano grew louder and more distinct as he walked, and the tunnel seemed to be growing even more impossibly wide. There was a corner up ahead, and when he rounded it he found himself in an open space that resembled some sort of lounge. It didn’t look like any of the other rooms that he’d seen in the hotel; it was too colourful, too neon-lit. There were bright orange sofas dotted around the room haphazardly, as well as a number of tall, fake-looking pot plants. The carpet was a red and purple geometric headache. On the right hand side of the room was a bar, unattended, and in the centre of the room was a low platform on which sat an elegant-looking grand piano.

Seated on the piano bench was a woman with long white-blond hair. She was hammering the keys as though the piano had done something to personally offend her, and the music was so loudly discordant that it was making his skin itch. He hesitated at the edge of the room, trying to breathe slowly. The woman was radiating anger, and if he’d been given the choice he’d have turned around immediately and walked straight back out of there. But he didn’t have a choice. There was no one else around he could speak to.

He started to make his way slowly across the room. “Erm… hi, excuse me?”

The woman crashed her hands into the keys and he stopped walking with a jerk. She whirled round to look at him. Her eyes grew wide. “_You_,” she said. “What are _you_ doing here?” She stood up and took two steps towards him before he could respond. “You’ve no business here, you need to leave.”

Miles stepped backwards. The woman was a good three inches taller than he was and her hands were balled into tight fists. “Okay, alright,” he said. “Calm down, yeah? That’s what I’m tryin’ to do. Just tell me the way out of ‘ ere and I’ll–”

“Go back the way you came in,” she snapped.

“I can’t, the way I came in’s not there anymore. I know that don’t make any sense, but–”

The woman began shaking her head. “You idiot, you complete and utter fool.”

“Look, steady on. If yeh just tell me where I need to go, I’ll be out yer hair and–”

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. She turned abruptly away from him, sat back down at the piano and buried her face in her hands.

Miles stared at her for a few seconds. For a moment he thought that she was crying, but when she turned back to him, her eyes were hard and her jaw was rigid.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” she said. “Or just stand there gaping like a fish, it’s entirely up to you.”

Miles exhaled slowly. “Look,” he said. “I can see yer upset about somethin’, but could yeh please just do us a favour and tell me how to get back downstairs?”

She glared at him. “You _are_ downstairs,” she said.

“No, we’re on the fifth floor–”

“I beg to disagree.”

Miles felt his patience dissolving. “Okay, fine, just– never mind okay? I’ll find me own way back.”

The woman let out a sharp, unpleasant laugh. “You don’t get it do you?” she said. “You’re not leaving. There’s nowhere to go.”

“What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Go look out the window.”

Miles stared at her. “Do what?”

She shrugged and turned back to the piano. “Or don’t, it makes no difference to me.” She set her fingers back on the keys and began to play once again.

Miles stood there for a moment longer, more irritated than anxious now. What the hell was this bird’s problem? He cast his eyes about the room once more, but he couldn’t even _see_ any windows. Then he noticed that a large portion of the wall to the rear of the piano was hidden behind a thick velvet curtain that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Probably the window was behind that.

He frowned as he made his way over to the curtain, giving the piano a wide berth. The woman continued to play as though she was ignoring him, but he could sense her eyes on the back of his neck as he reached out and took hold of the curtain cord. He gave it a sharp tug and the curtain swung aside to reveal a huge pane of glass.

He stared with his mouth open.

_That’s not possible. It’s a trick. It’s a projection. That’s not real._

The landscape on the other side of the glass was nothing but grey, barren rock, marked here and there with ugly craters. The sky was empty and black. There was only one stand out feature which drew the eye, and that lay in the far, far distance; a familiar bluish-greenish sphere hanging suspended in the middle of all that blackness. He recognised the image from the television monitors in room 521 – it was the Earth rising above the lunar surface.

He reached out and ran his hand gingerly over the glass. It felt cold to the touch. His own reflection stared back at him with wide, worried eyes.

The woman stopped playing and an uncomfortable silence descended.

Miles turned back to face her. “Listen,” he said carefully. “I don’t know what yeh think yer playin’ at here, but I need to get back to my friend, so–”

“You can’t help him now,” she said. “He’s with my brother.”

“Yer brother. Right, yeh’ve lost me now, love – who are you, exactly?”

“I am Annalise.”

Miles blinked. “Wait– wait a minute.” He stared at her. “You’re _that_ Annalise? Mark’s sister? But he told me that you– I mean– I thought–”

Annalise’s lips curved into a jarringly familiar crooked smile. “Told you I was dead, did he?” she said. “I bet he told you a lot of things. I bet he had you eating out of the palm of his hand, didn’t he Miles?”

“How in the hell do yeh know my name?”

She stood up and began to walk towards him. “I know all about you, Miles. I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen all the things you’ve been doing… the things you’ve been thinking.”

Miles took a step backwards. “I dunno what yer talkin’ about.”

“Oh I think you do,” she said. “Got in your head, didn’t he? He does that, I’m afraid. He can’t help himself, he’s a creature of desire.”

She kept walking towards him and Miles found himself backing up against the window. The coldness of the glass cut straight through his shirt to his skin.

“Did he make you want him, Miles?” she said. Her smile grew sharper and more insinuating. “Did he make you want to give yourself up to him–”

“Shut up,” Miles whispered. His voice had grown suddenly hoarse.

Annalise stopped right in front of him. “Had any interesting dreams lately?” she said.

Miles stared at her. “What the fuck d’yeh mean by that?”

“Oh don’t pretend to be stupid,” she said. “You may be a fool for my brother, but I know you’re not stupid.”

“I'm not bein' stupid, I just don't see what me dreams have got to do with anythin’.”

Annalise rolled her eyes. “They aren't just _your_ dreams,” she said. “They're Mark’s too.”

“What’re yeh talkin’ about?”

“I mean he put them there. He's been controlling your dreams ever since you arrived.”

Miles swallowed. “Bollocks,” he said. “Tha's impossible.”

“Is it? I suppose disappearing doors and hotels on the moon are impossible too?”

"I– I don't–"

“That's your special gift, though, isn't it Miles?” she said. “You're so literal-minded. You don't overthink reality. It’s a shame your friend isn’t so lucky.”

“What, Alex?”

Annalise sighed. “Yes,” she said softly. “Your friend Alex. I’ve seen inside his dreams too. They’re nothing at all like yours. They’re like an infinite surrealist landscape. Even his idle waking thoughts are built out of metaphors.” She sighed again. “Yes, I can see why my brother wants him.”

Miles blinked. “What do you mean Mark wants him?”

Annalise gave him a pitying look. “Silly boy,” she said. “Did you really believe he wanted _you_?”

A strange, heavy feeling began to uncurl in the pit of Miles’s stomach. That sensation of fluttering panic was trying to rise once again in his throat. Annalise stared at him with an expression of distaste, and then she turned away and walked back towards the piano. She stepped back up on to the platform, seated herself on the bench and began to coax another eerie melody from the unhappy sounding instrument.

Miles forced himself to breathe. “Look,” he said. “I need yeh to _stop_ playing that bloody thing and tell me what the _fuck_ is goin’ on. What the hell is this place and what the fuck does Mark want with Alex?”

Annalise ignored the request and continued to play. “This place is neither one thing nor another,” she said. “Neither imagination nor reality. It’s the embodiment of a dream, the incarnation of a desire.”

“Whose desire? A desire for _what_?”

She shrugged. “Desire has more than one face.”

Miles let out a frustrated growl and scraped a hand through his hair. “For fuck’s sake, will yeh _please_ start makin’ some fuckin’ sense?”

Annalise slammed her fist down on the keys and Miles flinched. “Listen, you stupid boy,” she said. “I am trying to explain this to you in language you will understand. My brother, he– the boundaries of reality mean absolutely _nothing_ to him. He’s insatiable, and he’s dangerous. He refuses to be content with his own plane of existence. He’s been trying to break through to your world, and he’s been using your precious Alex as a channel to do it.”

“What does that even _mean_? Why Alex, why him?”

“_Because_,” she hissed, “Alex has been breaking down boundaries _too_. Don’t you understand? He’s been punching the wall between dreams and reality for so long, it was only a matter of time before something had to give.”

Miles shivered. An unpleasant coldness had begun to steal its way across his chest. It was true that Alex had been in a right state this morning. For Christ’s sake, Miles hadn’t even been able to wake him… and yet for some insane reason he’d thought it’d be fine to just leave him and go off on some wild goose chase. What had he even been _thinking_? And now, because of his own stupidity, Alex was all alone, and Miles couldn’t reach him.

Annalise began to hum quietly to herself, and the sound made Miles’s skin prickle. Even her humming sounded off-key.

“You know,” she said. “Your Alex and my brother are very similar. They both have the same creative power, and the same urge to pursue their hearts’ desires.” She frowned and traced her fingers lightly across the silent piano keys. “They’ll be even more alike soon.”

Miles took a large, steadying breath. “Look,” he said. “I’m only gonna ask yeh this one more time, yeah? What the _fuck_ does Mark want with Alex?”

Annalise fixed him with a burning stare. “He means to take Alex’s place,” she said.

Miles stared back at her. His head was starting to spin. Too many questions were jockeying for position all at once – but there was only one that really mattered. “Are yeh tellin’ me that Alex is in danger?”

Annalise continued to gaze at him unblinkingly. “Once my brother is through with him,” she said. “He won’t _be_ your Alex anymore.”

Miles swore and rubbed both hands roughly across his face. “I have to get back to him,” he said. “Tell me how the fuck I get out of here.”

Annalise let out a sharp laugh. “You think it’s that easy? You think I’d still be here if there was a way out?” she said.

“Yer trapped?”

“_We_ are trapped,” she said. “And it’s _your Alex’s_ fault. He was the one who opened the channel and let Mark get through. My brother has overstepped his bounds. He’s out there, messing with things he’s no right to mess with, all because he _knows_ I can’t get to him. He _knows._”

Annalise’s expression twisted. It grew pinched and strange, and the skin on the back of Miles’s neck became ice cold. She looked suddenly inhuman, and he sensed with a horrifying clarity that the face she was presenting to him was nothing more than a mask for something else, something terrible that lay beneath it.

“He knows what’ll happen if I find him,” she hissed. “He’ll _suffer_ for everything that he’s done.”

Miles shut his eyes and fought to breathe through the tightness in his chest.

_Calm the fuck down. It doesn’t matter who or what she is. You need to get back to Alex._

He took a breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He opened his eyes and forced himself to speak. “Look– listen,” he said. “The way I see it, okay, it seems like we both want the same thing. We both want to get out of here, and we both want to… to have some _words_ with Mark. So why don’t we just work together to find some other way–”

“Imbecile,” she spat. “You don’t listen. There’s no other way out of here but through a door, and all the doors are locked to us.”

Miles blinked. A sudden thought flashed across his mind. “Wait,” he said. “What if we have this?” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the key for room 521.

Annalise went completely still. “You have a _key_.”

Miles nodded. “I have a key, but no fuckin’ door to put it in.”

Annalise stood up. She seemed even taller than before. Her mouth tightened into a determined line. “Miles,” she said. “Come with me, _right now_.”


	21. Chapter 21

Alex lit another cigarette, pressed it between his lips and inhaled. He held the smoke deep in his lungs for a few seconds, then blew it out again in a hazy cloud. The gentle rush of nicotine helped to settle his nerves a little.

He was stuck in that dead time, that strange hiatus which only existed during those last few hours before he had to play a gig. That time when the forward motion of the clocks seemed to pause, and he could do nothing but sit, and stare, and continue to exist; always just a little too early to begin his performance prep, but a little too late to go off and find something else to do. It was waiting time. Nothing time. As usual, he was passing it by smoking.

He sat on the edge of the stage, kicking his feet into space. He’d met with the band; he’d memorised the set list; he’d checked all the equipment, twice. Everything was in place. Everything was ready. Everything was ready, except for him.

Miles wasn’t here.

Alex hadn’t seen him for almost twenty-four hours now. There’d been no sign of him in the dining room during dinner, and he hadn’t come down to the bar for a drink. Alex had been back to the room once to grab his notebook, but Miles hadn’t been there either.

He sighed, pushed his hair back from his face and stared out at the empty booths and tables. Tonight was supposed to be busy, Mark’d said, but Alex hadn’t seen evidence of another soul all day. Even the other hotel staff seemed to have disappeared. All except for Mark.

He was still wearing Mark’s suit. There’d seemed little point in changing out of it only to have to change back again later. Besides, it was comfortable. He and Mark were built of the exact same proportions, right down to collar and shoe size. That information probably should have bothered him more than it did, but it seemed he’d become more or less accustomed to the similarities between the two of them.

He redirected his gaze towards the stage. The light glinted off the drum kit, the keyboard, and the funny little television sets that were all lined up behind him. The screens reflected half a dozen miniaturised images of the empty room. Mark had insisted upon having them there, and when Alex had asked him why, all he’d gotten in response was a wink and a cryptic comment about how they added to the overall aesthetic.

Alex hadn’t cared enough to ask further questions. He’d just set up the equipment according to Mark’s instructions and remained preoccupied with his other thoughts.

His other thoughts revolved mainly around Miles. He wondered what Miles was doing right now. Perhaps he was holed up somewhere in the hotel, waiting for Alex to come and find him… although knowing Miles, that didn’t seem very likely. It wasn’t the kind of game he would play. No, the reality was that if Miles had stayed away for this long, it was a sure sign that he wasn’t in the mood to be found, and especially not by Alex.

Which was a good thing, obviously. It was a _good_ thing that Miles was staying away from him. If Miles stayed away, that meant he was safe; it meant that Alex couldn’t hurt him again by accident.

But still. It’d been almost a day since their fight, and that was a long time to stay mad. The last time Miles had been mad at him, he’d only managed it for half an hour before he’d forgotten what it was they’d been arguing about. There was something not quite right about this extended silence. Then again… the nature of their conflict was different from the norm too.

Alex turned his mind deliberately back towards the set list. He’d only got enough new material to fill perhaps thirty minutes, but Mark had been insistent that Alex only play the songs he’d written whilst he’d been staying at the hotel. Alex didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight about it. It’d been a long while since he’d last played live and he was using all his focus just to keep his head in the game despite his aching tiredness.

Miles would probably have helped him to run through some of the songs, if he’d been here. Or, at the very least, he’d have been a willing audience while Alex rehearsed the songs on his own.

But Miles wasn’t here, and his absence echoed like a shout in the midst of all the silence.

Alex missed him.

The soft sound of approaching footsteps broke him from his reverie, and he turned to see Mark making his way across the stage. Mark had changed into his white suit, and the pale fabric made his hair and eyes look even darker by comparison.

“All set?” Mark said as he reached Alex’s side.

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, guess so.”

Mark appeared to hesitate for a moment, but then he crouched down and took a seat on the edge of the stage. “Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

“Nowt, it doesn’t matter.”

Mark hummed under his breath. Alex looked across at him and their eyes met. Mark nodded towards Alex’s cigarette. “Don’t suppose you have a spare?”

Alex passed Mark the one he was already smoking. Mark took it from him and put it between his lips. He inhaled and then breathed out with a sigh.

Alex observed him dubiously. “Didn’t know ya smoked,” he said.

“I don’t usually,” Mark said. “But sometimes the occasion calls for it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Mark gave him a tight smile. “It’s not something I’d feel right sharing with a guest,” he said. “But let’s just say that running a hotel does tend to have its stressful moments.”

Alex nodded. “I imagine it does,” he said.

Mark took another drag on the cigarette. “Still, these things are sent to try us,” he said. “I’m sure it will all come out in the wash.”

“Hmm.”

There was a pause. Alex could see out of the corner of his eye that Mark was watching him, as if he was waiting for Alex to say something more eloquent. He’d be waiting a long time. Alex had poured every last drop of his eloquence on to the pages of his notebook, and he had nothing left to give. He held his hand out for the cigarette and Mark passed it back to him.

“What’s troubling you, Alex?” Mark said.

Alex shook his head. “Nothing, I dunno.” He paused and took a drag. “It’s just– it’s not a big deal, yeah? But… ‘av ya by any chance seen Miles around anywhere today?”

“Ah,” Mark said.

Alex flicked his eyes back in Mark’s direction. “What?”

Mark splayed his hands out across his knees. “Well,” he said. “You’re probably not going to like this.”

Alex felt himself grow tense. “What?”

Mark sighed. “I’m afraid he’s left the hotel. I’m sorry, I assumed he’d spoken to you about it. He went this morning with Brian, on the motorcycle.”

“He– he’s left? But– he’s gone? You’re sure?”

Mark glanced away. “Yes, he told me he was leaving.”

“But– but did he say when he’s comin’ back?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Mark paused. “I’m very sorry, Alex.”

Alex didn’t respond. He’d lost the power of speech. Miles had _left_ him? Without even saying goodbye? Miles had _never_ left him without a proper goodbye, not ever, not even in the early days when they’d barely known each other. Miles had always been the first one ready with a hug or a kiss on the cheek, his ray-of-sunshine grin beaming in Alex’s face, promising that they’d see each other again soon. Even on bad days, when he’d been either sleep-deprived or hungover, or just generally fed up with Alex’s fluctuating moods, Miles had never left without a friendly word or a smile. Miles just didn’t _do_ drama, and he didn’t hold grudges, and any minor disagreement between the two of them had never been able to withstand the interminable pressure of Miles’s relentless optimism and cheery positivity.

This had always been so… until right now.

Alex drew in a shuddery breath.

“Would you like me to get you a drink?” Mark said.

Alex shook his head. “No. Not if ya want me sober for this gig.”

“Something to eat, then?”

“M’fine.”

Mark paused. “I really am sorry, Alex,” he said.

“S’not your fault. Brought it on meself, really. S’probably… s’probably for the best.”

Alex held the cigarette out again. Mark looked at it for a second, then took it and put it to his lips. For a few minutes they continued to smoke in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth between them.

Eventually, Alex took a final drag and then stubbed it out on the edge of the stage. “Right,” he said. “I suppose I’d better– erm– do some last minute checks or summat…”

He made as though to get up, but then Mark placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Alex,” he said. “I… I want to give you something. It might help your performance later.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?”

Mark cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a sort of step up from the exercises we’ve been doing already.” He stopped as he looked into Alex’s face. “Oh no,” he said. “Not the door. I don’t think either of us have the… the energy to try that one again yet.”

Alex breathed out. “Okay,” he said. “What then?”

“This is more of a… a gift of sorts,” Mark said. “It’ll help you, with performing, and writing and so forth. It’ll be a stopgap until we’re ready to… try the door again.”

Alex frowned. There was something about Mark’s hesitancy that was giving him pause. He couldn’t help but notice that Mark hadn’t quite been himself since the incident in room 521 when they’d summoned the door and Alex had been struck down by that awful screaming inside his head.

“We don’t have to do it,” he found himself saying. “If ya don’t want to.”

Mark’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but for once it wasn’t an insinuatingly smug one. “It’s okay,” he said. “I want to.”

Alex shrugged. “Alright then. Show me what to do.”

Mark nodded. “Turn and face me,” he said.

Alex turned to sit cross-legged on the stage and Mark mirrored him, shuffling closer until their knees were touching.

“Give me your hand,” Mark said.

“Okay…”

Alex held out his right hand and Mark took it and lifted it to his own forehead. He set Alex’s fingers to rest gently against the skin, and then he reached out with his left hand and nestled his own fingers in between Alex’s eyebrows.

“I’m going to channel you some of my own energy,” Mark said. “It’ll mean that you can play for longer without needing me to assist you. It should give you a little boost for your performance tonight.”

Alex blinked. “Will it hurt?”

“No, of course not. It may feel a little strange, that’s all.”

“Alright then.”

Mark nodded and then closed his eyes. Alex kept his open, watching him. He began to feel a recognisable heat blooming in the centre of his forehead beneath the pads of Mark’s fingers, and then a similar heat took hold of his own fingers where they lay pressed to Mark’s skin. A peculiar feeling of floating began to creep over him. He forced himself to relax rather than fight it. The edges of his vision began to darken, but he kept his eyes open, staring at Mark.

It was fascinating, having this brief chance to observe the enigmatic hotel manager without being observed in return. He scrutinised the lines of Mark’s face and was surprised to find that it wasn’t much like looking in a mirror anymore, but more like looking at a photograph of himself from another place in time; a photograph that he didn’t remember being taken. It seemed that he no longer felt quite as disturbed by the uncanny resemblance between the two of them, as if at some point his feelings had altered without him noticing, perhaps just through repeated exposure and familiarly, and now they edged more towards an odd sort of kinship rather than towards fear or aversion.

He breathed out slowly. He was used to this drill. They’d done it probably a hundred times at least, and the pressure of Mark’s fingers against his skin was no great surprise or revelation. Even so, this was the first time that his own fingers had been pressed against Mark’s skin in return, and something about that contact made the exercise seem more intimate than it had done before. He shut his eyes against a rising feeling of self-consciousness and instead turned his attention to the colours that had begun to pulse behind his eyelids. The feeling of floating intensified, and he let himself go with it. It was like being swept along by a gentle sea, but without any nausea or fear of sinking. He could feel the energy of that familiar blue light expanding and filling him, but now it was intertwined with a different kind of light – a vibrant orange light that twisted through his mind in shining tendrils and wreathed itself around his senses. It was Mark’s light, he realised; Mark’s creative energy combined with his own.

A warm glow began to spread outwards from the pit of his stomach, moving along his limbs. The skin all over his body began to hum, and now he was not so much floating as flying through space, as though a whole universe of possibilities had just opened up before him. He leaned into the feeling, letting it lift him, and on impulse he pushed his fingers more firmly against Mark’s forehead. He heard Mark inhale a quick breath. The orange light behind his eyes pulsed like a solar flare, and his own blue light flared in response. The two colours began to weave themselves into a pattern that was brighter and more beautiful than any he’d yet seen, and the more he pushed, the more vivid the pattern became.

He realised that he could hear something alongside the colours. It was barely audible at first, just a whispered murmur like the gentle hum of distant traffic, but as he pressed harder with his fingers the hum grew louder, until it was no longer just a hum but a chatter of competing sounds; the sounds coalesced and then separated, and then slowly began to resolve themselves into language.

_escapestophernotsafe alex watchingmenotsafe alex getout alex_

The words echoed through his mind in a meaningless jumble. He frowned, concentrated, and as he did so they began to come clearer. His heartbeat was pulsing hard in his ears and the rhythm of his breathing had grown shallow and quick, but his instincts urged him onwards regardless and now he couldn’t just hear the words but _feel_ them too; each one seemed interwoven with some unfamiliar emotion, something dark and furtive, and the feeling was accompanied by a terrible ache, a longing so bitter that it made his throat tighten.

_only way not safe escape alex get out of my not safe stop her alex escape stop Alex get out ALEX_

“_Alex_,” Mark said. He sounded breathless.

Alex opened his eyes, caught one look at Mark’s face and yanked his fingers back. The words and the colours both vanished at once, but he could still feel them there, pulsing in his blood. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “Are ya alright? Did I hurt ya?”

Mark shook his head, but he didn’t reply. His pupils were blown wide and his face had gone pale.

Alex reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

Mark gave a tiny nod. “I’m– I’m fine,” he said. “It’s my fault, I wasn’t quite prepared–”

“Let me get ya a drink or summat.”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself.”

“I really didn’t mean to–”

Mark waved his hand. “It’s perfectly all right,” he said. “How– how do you feel?”

Alex sat back. His skin was still thrumming with energy. He’d probably be able to punch his way through a solid brick wall right now if he tried, or else sit down and write a fucking symphony. The more disconcerting feelings were already dissipating, buried beneath the rush of power and fervour currently sweeping through his body. “I feel… pretty bloody good,” he said. A smile floated to the surface of his lips unbidden. “Thanks.”

Mark returned his smile. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Well, in that case, why don’t we get this show on the road?”

“Right.” Alex sprang to his feet and held out his hand to help Mark up. All of a sudden he found that he couldn’t wait to perform, to share his music with all the guests, to play his heart out. Why on earth had he been sitting around feeling so gloomy anyway? The reason, whatever it was, had faded into obscurity. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing.”

Mark chuckled softly. “Agreed,” he said. “After you, my friend.”

* * *

Later that night, Alex took to the stage.

The bar was lit dimly, and the reddish light tinted the sea of upturned faces spread out below him with a lurid pink glow. It turned skin rosy and eyes dark.

He played with his eyes wide open and gazed down at his audience without blinking, the sound of his guitar pouring forth like something hot and molten. Every word he sang seemed dredged up from the very depths of himself, and the audience took them all from him, swallowed every one, and then begged him for more. He gave them what they wanted. He bound them and tangled them in a web of his own design, until he was certain he could feel their every move, their every flutter and sigh, just as they could feel him. The more he played, the more they swayed and murmured, and the more the room seemed to swell with people upon people, body upon body, every one of them captured and captivated, each one watching him with blushing cheeks and parted lips.

Mark was watching him too, from the wings. Alex could feel him there without even looking, as if a single strand of the web he had woven was connecting them too. Performing his new songs to this audience was everything that Mark had said it would be, and more. Never had he experienced this strength of connection. Never had he expressed himself with such fluidity, or such power. He was dissolving in it. The music and himself were one entity; every jarring chord was now in harmony, and every fragmented part of reality had been distilled into this one perfect moment.

He smiled as he sang, and his heart swelled with the music. His body thrummed with an unvanquishable heat, and the stretch of skin in the very centre of his forehead burned just like it had beneath the press of Mark’s fingers. There was nothing else outside of this. If only he could keep playing like this forever and never stop, it seemed as though every broken part of himself might finally be mended, and every missing piece forgotten.

He looked out across the undulating, shimmering crowd and raised his voice, and he felt them shudder together as if they were one being. The power of the music floated him higher, while behind his eyes pulsed an endless pattern of repeating colours. He lost himself in the rhythms that danced within his mind’s eye, and on his tongue he tasted the sound of a symphony composed only of light. It was a light that was blue and yet orange… orange and yet blue.


	22. Chapter 22

Miles stared at the television screens. He was back in the room that looked like a carbon copy of room 521, except that this room was on the ground floor instead of the fifth.

Almost every screen was showing a video feed of Alex. Some shots were of him in their hotel room, others showed him downstairs in the lobby, while still others appeared to show him sleeping. In one of the images that had caught Miles’s eye, Alex was standing centre stage in the bar holding that bright red guitar of Mark’s. There was no sound from the monitors, but it was clear even from the silent video that Alex was singing his heart out. His eyes had that dark intensity to them which often appeared when he was truly losing himself in a performance, and yet Miles could see that the bar was completely empty. The lights were dimmed and there was no sign of any other living soul. Alex was surrounded by a cluster of those miniature, retro-looking television sets. They lay scattered at his feet, their wires trailing all over the stage.

Annalise stood in front of the monitoring desk. She was hitting various buttons and tapping away at the keys. As she did so, the last remaining images of the lunar surface and the orange-tiled corridor vanished, and now every single image showed Alex – and occasionally Miles as well. He recognised a shot of the dining room in one of the videos; he and Alex were sitting at a table, and it was pretty obvious from the footage that they were arguing. He recognised that argument. It was the last time that he and Alex had spoken.

Miles swallowed against the tightness in his chest. “Are these CCTV recordings or what?” he said.

Annalise shot him an impatient look. “What are you talking about?” she said.

“These pictures,” he said. “I don’t remember seeing any security cameras in the hotel.”

“That’s because there aren’t any.”

Miles frowned. “If there’s no cameras, then where did all this TV footage come from?”

Annalise rolled her eyes and continued to adjust the equipment. “These are not TVs,” she said.

Miles glanced at her, then glanced back at the screens. They bloody well looked like TVs to him. “Well,” he said. “What are they then?”

“Reality monitors.”

“You what?”

She glared at him. “Must I explain everything as if to a child?”

Miles began to count to ten under his breath. His irritation was mounting in a way that was going to get him in trouble if he wasn’t careful. All of his most basic instincts were screaming at him that to get on this woman’s bad side would be a very, very stupid idea.

“Fine, just forget it,” he said. “But I don’t see how fiddling with these things is going to help me– help _us_– get back to room 521.”

“A door can only be generated from the other side,” Annalise said. “We need someone to do that for us, and the only person capable, apart from my brother, is your Alex.”

“Alex? How can Alex create a door?”

Annalise let out a sharp sigh. “What do you think Mark’s been teaching him to do all this time, while you’ve been mooning about like a lovesick idiot?”

Miles growled. “I was _not_–”

“Make yourself useful,” Annalise snapped. “Watch the screens.”

Miles folded his arms and turned his attention back to the not-TVs. “I thought Mark was teachin’ him something on the guitar,” he said. “What the hell’s creating a magic door got to do with that?”

“It’s not a _magic door_,” she said. “It’s a channel between two planes of reality.”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ magic door to me–”

“Shut up and look at the screens,” Annalise said.

Miles clenched his teeth. “What the hell am I s’posed to be _looking_ for?”

“Anything unfamiliar or unusual – anything that looks strange.”

Miles scowled. There was nothing about this situation that _wasn’t_ strange. For a start, he wanted to know where the hell all these creepy video recordings had come from, and what they were for. From the looks of it, he and Alex had been under surveillance for quite some time – even when they’d been _sleeping_, for Christ’s sake.

He scanned the monitors, looking for one that might show him a live feed of Alex at the present moment, but the array of vastly similar looking videos made it impossible to determine which one that might be. Annalise kept tapping at the buttons on the desk, and the images kept altering. Now there was one of Alex drinking at the bar, and another one of him smoking, and another one of him sitting alone at the piano in the casino, and then there was one which… which…

“Stop a second,” Miles said. “What the hell’s goin’ on there?”

Annalise looked towards where he was pointing, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, _damn_ him.”

“What, what is it?”

“It’s Mark,” she said.

Miles frowned at the image on the screen. It showed Alex walking down a dark, empty corridor. Miles recognised the location at once from the numbered doors; it was the fifth floor, and Alex was headed towards the door at the end of the row – the door to room 521.

Annalise hit a button and the image zoomed in on Alex’s face. His pupils were shockingly black, and his expression was glassy. His gaze was fixed on the end of the corridor, where the door to room 521 hung ajar. From within the room came the intermittent flash of a strange red light.

“Jesus, is he _sleep_-walking?” Miles said.

“Worse,” Annalise said. “He’s dreaming. And if he goes into that room, he’s going to be in serious trouble.”

Miles spun round. “What d’yeh mean? What trouble?”

“I told you, it’s Mark. That’s a _door_. He’s trying to get Alex to cross over. You need to wake him up.”

“Me? What the hell can I do?”

“Come here. Quickly.”

Annalise’s tone of voice brooked no argument. Miles stepped towards her, but then recoiled when she grasped him firmly by the shoulders.

“Keep still,” she snapped. “I’m going to open a channel so you can communicate with him. Close your eyes.”

“What–”

Annalise didn’t wait for him to finish. She jabbed her thumb and forefinger against his forehead and immediately the room vanished.

* * *

Miles blinked to find himself suddenly in utter darkness. There was a repetitive beeping noise coming from somewhere, and the sound of approaching footsteps. He whirled round, heart hammering, half expecting some unknown assailant to be reaching for him out of the dark.

He came face to face with Alex.

His relief was so strong that he almost collapsed to his knees. “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Alex didn’t look at him. He walked straight past as if Miles wasn’t even there. Miles reached out to grab him, but his fingers passed straight through Alex’s body as though he were made of smoke. He looked down at his hands in horror, then back at Alex. The beeping sound was louder now, and he could see the intermittent flash of the red light coming from the door at the end of the corridor.

Panic gripped him by the throat. “Don’t go in there Alex,” he called out.

To his surprise, Alex jumped, turned abruptly and looked back at him, but his gaze seemed to pass straight through him and onward to the empty corridor behind.

“Who’s there?” he said.

“Al, it’s me. I’m right here, man, look at me.”

Alex cast his eyes around again but he didn’t respond. After a few seconds, he turned away and resumed his journey towards room 521.

“Alex!”

Miles ran to catch up with him. He tried to grab him by the shoulder, but it was useless. Alex could neither feel him nor hear him. Alex walked right up to the door and stood on the threshold, and then he seemed to hesitate there for a moment.

“Alex. Alex, please, don’t.”

But Alex ignored him. He stepped into the room and was almost instantly swallowed up by the darkness.

_Miles. Wake him up. You have to WAKE HIM UP._

The voice yelling at him wasn’t his, but it came from inside his own head. He looked around in desperation for something, anything that would help. The only thing close to him was the door itself. He reached out for it and his heart jolted when his fingers closed over solid wood. He yanked it wide and slammed it into its frame. His arm shook with the impact. The bang echoed like a gunshot.

* * *

Miles opened his eyes, and flinched to find himself staring right into Annalise’s face. His heart was pounding. His breathing came shallowly in ragged gasps.

“What the _fuck_ just happened?”

Annalise tutted. “Get yourself a handkerchief, you’re bleeding.”

“What?” Miles lifted a hand to his nose and his fingertips came away red. “What the hell–”

“Be quiet.” Annalise’s eyes were back on the screens.

Miles dabbed at his nose with his sleeve. “What happened to Alex? Is he okay?”

“Only just,” she said. “One more second and he wouldn’t have been.” She resumed tapping at the buttons on the desk. “I know my brother, though. He won’t have given up after one attempt.”

Miles took a step forward and his head swam. His face was sore and his ears were ringing. “I was somewhere else, just then,” he said. “And now I’m here. How the hell did you do that?”

Annalise shot him a derisive look. “Mark isn’t the only one who can infiltrate dreams.”

“Infiltrate… what?” Miles stared back at her. “Come on. Yeh seriously expect me to believe that yeh just sent me into Alex’s _dream_?”

“No. I expect nothing of you at all.”

Miles tightened his jaw. “What the hell are these screens really for?”

Annalise continued to press random buttons. “I told you,” she said. “They're reality monitors.”

“But they show dreams too?”

“Of course they do. Dreams are just another plane of reality, same as the rest.”

Miles swallowed. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He was thinking about the little television sets that he'd seen all over the hotel; in the bar, in the dining room, in room 521. He thought of the monitoring station in Mark's office, the one that had looked very similar to this one. Annalise's earlier words returned to him like an echo.

_He's been controlling your dreams ever since you arrived._

Shivers began to prickle across his skin. He felt as though he'd just walked out on to the stage of a sold out arena, glanced down at himself and discovered that he was completely naked. He swallowed the feeling down. It was absurd. No one could watch or control other people's dreams. That was ridiculous. Impossible. He clung on to the gospel of that truth as though it were a life raft floating on a violent sea.

Annalise inhaled sharply.

“What? What's wrong?” He turned back towards the screens and followed her gaze. The feed was showing Alex sat on a bench, face to face with Mark, and Mark had his fingers pressed to Alex's forehead. Miles frowned. “What the hell are they doing?”

No sooner had he spoken than the image on the screen began to shimmer as though it were hidden behind a layer of heated air, and then a tall, dark, rectangular object flickered into existence a mere five feet away from where Mark and Alex were sitting. There was no mistaking what it was.

Miles turned to Annalise. She was staring blankly at the screen. “That's another one of them fuckin' doors isn't it?” he said. “_Do_ something.”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Why the fuck not? Just do whatever yeh did last time. I'll find a way to stop ‘im.”

“I _can't_,” she said. “This time Alex isn’t dreaming. He's awake.” She slammed her fist against the desk. “That _bastard_. He’s doing it deliberately. He _knows_ I can't interfere if Alex is awake.”

Miles stared at her. “But what happens if Al goes through that door?”

Annalise shook her head once more. “He won't be coming out again.”

“Fucking _do_ something, then!” Miles’s voice sounded unnaturally shrill in his own ears.

Annalise scraped a pale hand through her white-blond hair and turned back to face the screens. Several vital seconds ticked past, but then she spun round and gave him a piercing look. “Tell me,” she said. “How much do you value your life?”

“What kind of fucked up question is _that_?”

“Just listen. I can't reach him on my own, but you, you belong to that reality, so maybe you still can.”

“Well, send me _in_ then, what the fuck are yeh waitin’ for?”

Annalise took a step towards him. Her eyes were cold. “It might kill you,” she said.

Miles felt his heart beating in his throat. There was a roaring in his ears like the howl of an approaching storm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex stand up and take a step towards the door.

“Do it,” he said.

Annalise didn't hesitate. In a moment her sharp fingers were at his temples. The room dissolved in a blinding flash of pain and he felt himself dissolve with it. His breath stuttered in his chest. Somewhere, someone was screaming, and for a long horrifying moment, he thought it was Alex. Then he realised it was him. It was him, screaming Alex's name, over and over.

A second later, the world disappeared.


	23. Chapter 23

The first thing Miles noticed was the fact that he was shivering. His limbs were so numb with cold, it was as though they didn’t belong to him. He could barely squeeze his hand to make a fist.

The second thing he felt was the pain. It hit him all at once. He screwed his eyes up tight and clenched his jaw as it stabbed right through the centre of his skull like a white hot knife.

Perhaps he blacked out for a while. It was hard to know. The pain seemed to have doomed him to repeat the same endless moment of time, over and over.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he opened his eyes. He was looking up towards a featureless grey ceiling. From somewhere in the background came the quiet droning of electrical equipment.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” said a female voice.

Miles struggled to lift himself up on to his elbows. His body felt bruised, and when he swallowed he could taste blood. His vision swam as he moved, forcing him to keep still until the seasickness subsided. His eyes alighted on Annalise, who was sitting stony-faced and watchful on the corner of the desk. The screens behind her still flickered with images of Alex’s face.

_Alex._

“Is– is he alright?” Miles said. His tongue felt swollen inside his mouth.

“Yes,” Annalise said. “For now. But we don’t have much time. Mark will try again, once he’s recuperated.”

“Recuperated?”

Annalise smiled unpleasantly. “My brother has been summoning doors outside of dream-space,” she said. “That requires a lot of energy. He’s obviously desperate.”

Miles glanced carefully from side to side. Even that small movement sent sparks of discomfort shooting up his neck. “I– I’m not sure I can get up,” he said.

“Fine. Lie there, if you insist. But your pain will be for nothing if Mark gets what he wants.”

“Just… just give me a minute, yeah?” Miles breathed in carefully. Even his ribs felt bruised. He slowly eased himself into a sitting position and then rested back on his wrists. He waited for his head to stop spinning.

Annalise made a sound of impatience. “A minute isn’t just a minute,” she said. “Not in this place.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It _means_ that time works differently here. It’s not linear. It doesn’t always move at the same speed.”

Miles’s headache was getting worse. “Please,” he said. “Don’t tell me that by the time we get back to Earth, everyone else will’ve aged fifty years or something, because I really can’t deal with that kind of sci-fi crap right now.”

Annalise gave him a look. “Don’t be absurd,” she said.

“Well, what are yeh on about then?”

She let out an aggravated sigh. “I’m saying that moving between realities isn’t an exact science. We may not be able to get back to the same moment that you left, and the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be.” She jerked a hand towards the screens. “As you may have noticed, realities are multiplying as we speak. It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack soon, so I suggest you pick yourself up off the damn floor and get your act together. ”

Miles gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he said. He tried to lift himself up on to his knees, but winced as another bright flash of pain shot up his neck. “Yeh know, yeh could actually help me or somethin’?”

Annalise gave him a look of disgust, but she stood up, walked over and held out her hand. Miles reached out and took it. He shuddered. Her skin was ice cold and unpleasantly smooth. It didn’t really feel like skin at all. He got to his feet as quickly as possible, which wasn’t very quick, and then he let go of her hand and leaned against the desk instead. He breathed slowly in and out, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

Annalise turned away and began tapping once more at the buttons on the screens. The images flickered and changed in quick succession.

“What are yeh looking for?” Miles said.

“Dream-spaces,” she said. “They’re our only way in.”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. “Yer gonna take control of one of Alex’s dreams?”

“No,” she said. “You are.”

“Look, I dunno about this–”

“You’d rather I did it then?” Annalise looked at him with another of her unpleasant smiles. “I can, of course,” she said. “But I don’t promise to be gentle.”

Miles stiffened. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Annalise turned back to the screens, but her smile stayed sharp. “Are you sure?” she said. “After all, perhaps you’re right. Sometimes nightmares can be more persuasive than dreams–”

“That’s not necessary,” Miles said. “Just tell me what yeh need me to do.”

“If you insist.”

Annalise kept pressing buttons and the screens continued to change. Miles kept his eyes trained on her, as one might watch a poisonous snake rearing up to strike. Her face really was unnaturally pale, and there was something about the way she moved that gave him the creeps.

She breathed out in a sudden rush. “Here we are.”

Miles followed her eyes to the screen in question. It showed Alex, dressed in his white hotel bathrobe, and he was wandering down some narrow corridor which Miles didn’t recognise. Exits branched off on both sides, and sometimes Alex turned left, and sometimes right, but each new corridor appeared identical to the last. It looked like he was stuck in some sort of maze.

Annalise turned to him. “Don’t take too long,” she said. “The state you’re in, you’ll end up hurting yourself. Persuade him to create the door, then call me to get out.”

Miles forced himself to stand up straight. “Last time I spoke to him, he couldn’t hear me,” he said. “What’ll I do if that happens again?”

“Just use your instincts,” she said. “He’ll hear you.”

Miles pressed his lips together. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Annalise nodded and stepped towards him. He held his ground and took control of his breathing; in through the nose and out through the mouth. He shut his eyes and steeled himself. A moment later, he felt the cold pressure of her pale fingers against the surface of his skin.

* * *

When Miles opened his eyes again, he found himself in a narrow corridor, surrounded by a twilight darkness. It was so quiet that for a moment he thought himself completely alone. His chest filled with a sudden, inexplicable ache. It was a loneliness the magnitude of which he’d never felt before, so thick he was almost choking on it. He made an attempt to ground himself. _Take it steady, Kane. Keep calm._

A gentle shuffling caught his ear and he turned to face the sound. A figure was walking towards him out of the dark.

“Alex?”

The figure came forwards, and what light there was fell across prominent cheekbones, dark hair and dark eyes. “Miles? Is… is that you?”

Miles sagged at the sound of that familiar voice. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, are you–”

Alex didn’t wait for him to finish. He launched himself at Miles and Miles stumbled backwards against the wall. In an instant Alex had buried his face against Miles’s neck, encircled Miles’s waist with both arms, and was squeezing him tight. He was shivering violently and his breathing was coming in short, shuddery gasps.

“Miles,” he said. “I– I can’t find the way. It all looks the same. M’lost, I can’t–”

“Ssssh. Easy, okay? It’s a dream, it’s just a dream, yer not lost.”

Alex pulled back and looked at him. “Why– why did ya _leave_ me?” he said.

Miles shook his head. “I didn’t leave yeh, I’d never leave yeh.”

“You _did_,” Alex said. “You left me behind.”

“No, Al, I swear–”

Alex stepped back. His expression became unfocused. He looked left and right, frowned in confusion, and then he turned and began to walk away.

“Alex, wait–”

Miles moved to cut him off. He stood in Alex’s way and blocked the path, but Alex just looked straight through him as if Miles wasn’t even there. His eyes were huge in the dim light and his gaze darted around as if he was looking for something that he’d misplaced.

“Is anyone there?” he said. His voice was a hopeless whisper. “Please. I’m lost.”

Miles felt like someone had just reached into his chest and squeezed. It was unbearable. He stepped forward, grasped Alex’s face in both of his hands and pulled him closer.

“I’m here, I’m right here,” he said. “Please, tell me you can hear me?”

Alex blinked, but he didn’t move or reply.

Miles swallowed hard. “Please look at me, Al. Please.” He cupped the back of Alex’s head in his palm and tangled his fingers in Alex’s hair.

Alex didn’t react. He just stood there motionless, staring at nothing.

Miles fought off his rising panic and did the only thing he could think of to do. He leaned forward and pressed a single dry kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth. Alex shuddered, but he didn’t pull away, and so Miles kissed him again, this time full on the lips. There was the briefest of pauses, during which Miles was aware of nothing except for the warmth of Alex’s breath against his cheek, and then he felt Alex’s fingers curl around his wrist. Alex’s grip tightened, and he began to kiss Miles back.

“Miles,” he whispered. “Miles.”

“I’m here. Okay?”

Alex kissed him again and Miles’s stomach fluttered with the wings of a thousand butterflies. “Don’t leave,” Alex murmured. “Stay. Stay here with me.”

“We– we can’t stay here, Al,” Miles whispered back. His words were half muffled beneath the soft press of Alex’s mouth. “It’s– it’s not real. None of this is real.”

Alex threaded their fingers together and brought Miles’s hand close to his own chest. “I’m real,” he said. “I’m real, aren’t I Miles?”

Miles could feel the quick beat of Alex’s heart beneath his palm, and his own heartbeat quickened in response. He took a breath to steady himself. It was frighteningly tempting to just give in, to say yes, and to wrap himself around Alex and kiss him until nothing else mattered.

He pressed their mouths together once more and felt Alex shiver. He could hardly bear to think of leaving him here, alone and lost in the dark. But he couldn’t stay either. The dull ache in his body reminded him that he couldn’t stay. No matter how wonderful this dream, he couldn’t live in it. Neither of them could. They had to wake up and face reality.

He pulled back from the kiss. “Al,” he said. “Stop, listen. I– I need yeh to come with me.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“We’re going back to room 521. I… I need for you to open a door.”

Alex flinched back at once. “A door?” he said.

“Ssssh.” Miles rubbed a soothing hand up and down Alex’s back. “It’s not for you, it’s for me, okay? I’m… I’m trapped on the other side. I need yeh to come and let me out. Can yeh do that?”

“I… I dunno.” Alex looked frightened again. “I don’t like the doors, Miles.”

“It’s alright. Nuffin’s gonna happen to yeh while I’m here, okay?”

Alex took a shaky breath, but he nodded. “Okay.”

On Alex’s word, the labyrinth around them began to shift and dissolve. For a moment it seemed as if they were floating in a black void of featureless space, and Miles thought he caught a glimpse of a strange blue light pulsing through golden wires high above his head. Then the vision reformed itself into something more familiar, and suddenly there they were, standing in room 521. They stood facing a blank stretch of wall where at one time in the very recent past, Miles knew, there had once been a door.

“There,” Miles said, pointing. “Can yeh make a door there?”

Alex shook his head. “I dunno, I– I’m not sure.”

Miles turned to him. “I know yeh can do it,” he said. “Can yeh try?”

Alex stared down at his feet. “If I do it,” he said. “Are you going to leave me again?”

“Never. Alex, look at me. Never, okay?”

Alex hesitated, but then he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Alex turned to look at the wall, his face assuming an expression of intense concentration, and Miles’s breath caught in his throat as Alex’s skin began to glow with a ghostly blue aura. The full truth of the current situation hit him like a slap to the face. _Fuck me. I really am inside Alex’s dream._ His skin started to prickle and a dull throbbing headache began to pulse like a drumbeat between his eyebrows. It was a horrible reminder of the pain to which he would soon be returning.

As he watched, the blue of Alex’s aura grew brighter and the wall shimmered just like a mirrored surface. He blinked. In front of him there suddenly stood a familiar looking door, painted black with a brass plated handle. It lay in the gap where before there had been nothing but empty space. For a few seconds he just stared at it, not quite believing in the evidence of his own eyes, but then he became aware of the sound of Alex’s rapid breathing.

“I– I don’t know how long I can do this,” Alex said.

Miles’s attention snapped back into focus. “Hold on, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?”

“Of course. I promise.”

Alex’s gaze felt like a solid weight, and Miles could feel it resting on him even after he closed his eyes, braced himself, and called for Annalise.

* * *

The glare of the light after the darkness of the dream made him screw up his eyes. He buckled under a wave of nausea and stumbled back against the desk. He had no time to recover; Annalise was already there, right in front of his face, shaking him roughly by the arm.

“Get up, you fool,” she said. “Give me the key. Give it to me.”

She shook him again, and he used what little strength he had left to shove her away. “Fuck _off_,” he said.

“Imbecile,” she hissed. “The door’s fading already. We need to go _now_.”

Miles turned his head towards the back of the room, and there in the wall was the door that he’d seen in Alex’s dream. It shimmered gently like a mirage, not quite solid, and Annalise was right – it was already starting to fade.

“Fuckin’ help me walk then,” he said.

Annalise growled low in her throat. Miles shuddered as she wrapped a cold arm around his waist and lifted him into a standing position, and then she was dragging him bodily across the room as though he weighed nothing at all and he was stumbling helplessly over his own feet in a desperate attempt to keep up with her. His head felt as though it was about to split in two and every time he swallowed, his mouth tasted of metal.

They reached the door and she shoved him up against it.

“Open it,” she said. “Do it _now_.”

Miles fumbled in his pocket for the key and brought it to the door with a shaking hand. He turned it and the mechanism clicked in the lock. He grasped the door handle, twisted, and heaved the door open. Annalise gave him a violent push and he fell through the door into the room beyond and landed hard on his knees. She didn’t speak to him again. She simply swept past and disappeared from sight behind room 521’s bank of reality monitors.

Miles could hear her tapping away at the buttons, but he paid her no more attention. His gaze was fixed on the person standing there in front of him, fast asleep on his feet and dressed in the same white bathrobe that he’d been wearing in his dream.

_Alex_.

Except that something had obviously gone very wrong, because this Alex didn’t look anything like the person that Miles had argued with yesterday, or the person that he’d just kissed in the dream. This Alex was too thin and too pale, and he was no longer clean shaven; his face was half hidden behind what looked to be a good three or four weeks’ growth of scruffy facial hair.

Dread settled like a lead weight in Miles’s stomach. He felt like he might be sick. He forced himself shakily to his feet, hurried towards Alex and took hold of him gently by the shoulders. “Alex?” he said. “Can yeh hear me? Wake up, man, please.”

Alex’s eyes flew open at once and he flinched back as though Miles had just struck him. “What–”

“Ssssh, it’s alright, it’s just me.”

Alex’s face twisted into a look of horror. “What d’ya want?” He started to struggle in Miles’s grip. “Get off me, lemme go!”

“Al, what the matter? What’s wrong?”

Alex struggled harder. “How the fuck d’ya know my name?” he said. “Stay away from me!” He drove his elbow painfully into Miles’s chest and jerked himself backwards, breathing hard.

Miles stared back at him and a horrible feeling wound itself like barbed wire around his heart. “Al, it’s _me_,” he said. “It’s _Miles_. Come on, man, don’t do this, please.”

“I don’t bloody know ya,” Alex said. “Stay the fuck back.”

“Alex…” Miles heard the plaintive whine in his own voice, but he could already see that begging would be useless.

Alex’s eyes were wide and confused. There was no recognition in them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music inspiration:  
[No One Home - Omnia feat. Ana Criado](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r53aoLbi0Bo)  
This tune was a huge Miles headcanon for me while I was writing this fic, and especially for this chapter, so I thought I'd share it with you guys :)


	24. Chapter 24

The rain smashed itself relentlessly against the window and from outside came the low growl of thunder. The lights flickered once. The wind howled through the eaves like a wounded animal seeking shelter.

Miles stared at Alex in mute silence, separated from him by a mere three feet of space that had somehow turned into an unbridgeable chasm. Alex’s expression was hard. He held himself stiffly as though poised to run.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me,” he said.

Miles kept very still, trying not to make any sudden movements, even though his body ached and all he wanted to do was collapse to the floor. “I’m tellin’ yeh the _truth_,” he said. “Why would I make this shit up, eh?”

“I dunno, maybe ‘cause you’re fuckin’ crazy?”

Miles started to raise his hands to scrub them back through his hair, and Alex flinched. He lowered them again slowly. “I’m not gonna _hurt_ yeh, man,” he said. “I told yeh, it’s _Mark_ – he’s the one who’s been tryin’ to hurt yeh, not _me_. I’m yer best _friend_.”

“Stop it,” Alex said. He looked even paler than before and there was a tremor in his voice. “I told ya, I’ve never met ya before, and you can bloody well leave Mark outta this.”

“Alex, listen to me, he’s gotten into yer head, yeh can’t trust ‘im–”

“I trust ‘im more than I trust _you_.”

“_Please_, don’t yeh remember how we got here? Don’t yeh remember breaking down on the side of the road? Mark’s been watchin’ us this entire time on these fuckin’ screens. I’m bettin’ he’s the reason we ended up at this fuckin’ hotel in the first place.”

Alex stared at him. “What are ya _talkin’_ about?” he said. “This is _my_ hotel. I live here.”

Miles stared back at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said I live here. I’m a member of the house band. We play every night. We’ve a residency.”

Miles shook his head slowly. “No, no, Al, listen, yeh’ve got it wrong. We only got here a few days ago. It’s _Mark’s_ band, not yours–”

“_Stop_ it,” Alex snapped. “It’s my band. It’s always been my fuckin’ band.”

“Al, please just listen–”

“Shut _up_,” Alex said. “This is _my_ hotel, and it’s _my_ gig, and _my_ band, alright? And you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

Miles’s calm shattered like glass. “Well, if it’s your band then who the fuck is Mark then, eh?”

“He’s my _friend_,” Alex shouted back. “And you can stay the _hell_ away from both of us–” He dodged like he was about to make a run for it, but Miles moved instinctively to block his path. Alex jerked backwards. “You better get the fuck outta the way or I swear to god–”

“I can’t let yeh go back to ‘im, man. He’s _dangerous_, he’s–”

“Fuck you!”

Miles flinched as Alex hurtled forwards and gave him a violent shove. He lost his balance and stumbled back, flailing his arms; he made a grab for Alex but missed completely and Alex darted past him.

“Alex, wait!”

Miles spun round to pursue him, but jerked to a stop as he caught sight of Annalise. She was standing there blocking Alex’s exit, her face a mask of rage, her jaw set and her fists clenched.

“Where the hell do you think _you’re_ going?” she spat.

Alex sprang backwards so fast that he crashed into Miles and nearly sent him flying again. Miles reached for him without thinking and wrapped a steadying arm around his waist, but Alex didn’t even register the contact. His face had gone white and he was staring at Annalise like she was some kind of apparition.

Annalise advanced towards them both. “Thought you’d go crying back to Mark, did you?” she snarled at Alex. “Sorry to have to inform you, boy, but you’re going nowhere.” She reached out with her right hand and Alex gasped as she pressed her fingers to his forehead. His eyes sank shut at once and he went limp and lifeless in Miles’s arms.

Miles stared at Annalise in horror. “What the _hell_ ‘av yeh done to ‘im?”

“I shut him up,” Annalise said.

“You fuckin’ _what_?”

Annalise rolled her eyes. “Oh stop making that face, he’s just asleep. Mark’s going to get what he deserves and I’m not having your idiot friend running off to help him.”

“He’s _not_ an idiot,” Miles snapped. “He’s just freaked out. What the _fuck’s_ goin’ on here anyway, why’s he forgotten everything? How bloody long ‘av we been gone?”

“I _told_ you that moving between realities wasn’t an exact science,” Annalise snapped back. “But if you must know, I estimate a minor time lapse of less than a month. If he’s got amnesia, you can blame _Mark_ for that, not me.”

“Well, then we need to find Mark right now and get him to _fix_ it.”

Annalise looked at him coldly. “Forget it,” she said. “Mark’s not going to be able to fix anything by the time I’m done with him.”

Miles stared at her. “You’re not actually fuckin’ jokin’ are yeh?”

“I don’t make jokes, Miles.”

“But– but– look, I know he’s bad news, yeah, but for Christ’s sake, he’s yer _brother_. Besides, what if Alex never gets his memory back? If Mark did this to ‘im then Mark’s the only one who–”

“Enough!” Annalise stepped away from the door and stalked back over to the reality monitors. “I’m sick of your pathetic whining. There’s nothing more to say, so why don’t you just leave while you still have the chance.” She turned her back on him and began tapping once more at the buttons on the desk.

Miles shook his head. “Yer fuckin’ crazy.”

She ignored him, or perhaps she’d simply ceased to notice his existence. Her brow was furrowed, and her attention was fixed on the screens in front of her.

Miles gritted his teeth and lowered Alex carefully to the floor. He limped over to the window. Darkness was gathering outside and the sky bulged with angry looking clouds. The forest stretched from the hotel to the horizon without a break, making it appear as though the building was marooned in an impenetrable ocean of trees. The trees bowed and strained at their roots in the teeth of the rising gale, and Miles could see no sign of the track that he and Alex had followed in order to reach the hotel. It was as though the woods had simply swallowed it up. There was no chance he’d be able to carry Alex safely through the forest in this storm, even if he _could_ find the way. And besides, what if they left and Alex never regained his memories?

No, his only chance to help Alex was by confronting Mark and forcing him to reverse the damage that he’d done… and that meant he would have to find Mark before Annalise did.

He blinked as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. The thunder followed quickly on its heels and the wind rattled at the edges of the window frames. The storm was getting closer.

Miles moved away from the window and knelt down at Alex’s side. Alex was fast asleep, breathing evenly, but his face was creased in an unhappy frown. Miles stroked a hand gently through his hair. He had to get Alex to some place where he’d be safe, but the only place that sprang to his exhausted mind was their hotel room. It hardly qualified as safe, since Mark would definitely know to look for Alex there, but at least it had a bed and a lockable door.

He leaned down and scooped his arm carefully beneath Alex’s shoulders, steeling himself against the expected pain as he prepared to lift him, but at that moment the lights flickered, once and then again. At the third flicker, they went out altogether, and the room was plunged into utter darkness.

Annalise let out a shriek of frustration. Miles heard her slam her fist against the desk.

_The screens_, he realised. _She was using the bloody screens to look for Mark_.

He glanced around, searching for the miniature television sets that he knew to be littering the floor, but he couldn’t see them. Those screens had obviously died too, along with the power. If Annalise wanted to go looking for Mark now, she would have to do it the good old fashioned way.

He kept very still in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He heard Annalise stamp across the room, the material of her dress hissing as she moved. Her footsteps grew fainter, and then they began to fade away down the corridor. He knew the moment she was gone; the air in the room felt all at once more breathable.

Moonlight began to filter sporadically into the room via the window, appearing and disappearing with the scudding of the clouds. It was just enough light to see by, but seeing in the dark wasn’t his only problem. He was feeling increasingly shaky, and he was starting to doubt his ability to carry Alex back to their room at all, even without the challenge of finding his way without a flashlight.

Still, there was no fucking way that he was going to leave him all alone in room 521.

He sucked in a huge breath and steeled himself once more, cradled his arms beneath Alex’s legs and shoulders, tensed his stomach muscles, and lifted. His eyes went wide and he almost fell backwards – but not because of the weight; because of the _lack_ of it. Alex suddenly seemed to weigh almost nothing at all. It was as though gravity no longer applied to him. He felt barely even solid. Miles felt the dread gathering once more in the pit of his stomach and curling upwards into his throat. This was wrong. Alex shouldn’t weigh this little. It was physically impossible. Christ, what the hell had Mark _done_ to him?

Miles blinked hard and clenched his jaw. It was his own fucking fault. He should never have left Alex alone. He should never have persuaded Alex to stay at this fucked up hotel in the first place. But there was nothing he could do to change any of that now. All he could do now was try to fix it.

He hugged Alex tighter against his chest and set off in the direction of their room.

* * *

The room lay in darkness, just like everywhere else, but Miles lit a candle and set it to burn on the nightstand beside the bed, next to where Alex was sleeping. There wasn’t much else he could do, but at least he could ensure that Alex wouldn’t wake up frightened in the dark.

He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and brushed Alex’s hair back from his face. He trailed his fingers through the long, untidy strands and stroked his knuckles gently across Alex’s cheek. Alex didn’t stir. He lay still, breathing softly, and his eyelids fluttered with invisible dreams. Miles sincerely hoped that they were good dreams, but his instincts suggested otherwise.

He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Al,” he whispered. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, man.” He rubbed his fist roughly across his eyes. “I’ll fix this, I swear. Just hold on for me, okay?”

Alex shifted in his sleep and murmured some wordless sound. He gave no other sign of consciousness, but Miles continued to stroke his cheek and speak to him regardless.

“I’m so sorry I yelled at yeh,” he said. “And I’m sorry I left, I didn’t mean to. It’s just– I feel– oh Christ’s sakes, Al.”

He took a deep breath and blinked back the stinging in his eyes. He smoothed his thumb gently along the line of Alex’s cheekbone and watched him breathe. The candlelight danced over Alex’s sleeping face. Miles’s heart ached.

“I– I promise,” he whispered, “if we ever get outta here, I’ll never leave yeh ever again. Yer… yer everything to me, Al. Yer my whole fucking world.”

The words almost choked him. It was more than he’d ever admitted before, even to himself. Alex mightn’t be awake to hear him say it, but still, there it was. He could no longer pretend or deny the truth. There was no way for him to take it back, and in any case he didn’t want to. No matter what happened tonight, he would live out the rest of his life in full consciousness of the reality of his feelings; he wouldn’t fear them or suppress them anymore, and if they brought him pain then so be it, he would bear it. He would bear that pain and a whole lot worse, if only he could find a way to bring Alex back.

He sat for a minute more, watching the candlelight chase the shadows back and forth across Alex’s skin, until the ticking of his watch became as loud as a drum and he dared not stay any longer. He smoothed Alex’s hair back one last time, and then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Alex’s lips. “Please wait for me,” he said. “I’ll come back for yeh, I promise.”

Alex sighed in his sleep. His eyelids continued to flicker, but still he didn’t wake. Miles stood up, tucked the bedcovers in around him and pressed a final kiss to his forehead. After that he turned away, forcing himself not to linger, and he didn’t look back as he stole quietly out of the room.

* * *

Miles didn’t waste his time searching the bar, or the casino, the dining room, or the office, but he pinned his hopes on the thought that Annalise would be otherwise occupied in searching those places. It would take her some quite considerable time to search all those plus the other rooms in the hotel.

He hoped with a greater fervency that the hunch he had about Mark’s actual whereabouts would prove to be correct.

The spare key for room 507 was still hanging on its hook behind the check-in desk in the lobby. There was no one around to see him take it.

* * *

The door was closed. Miles stood and breathed in and out quietly in the dark hallway. He’d been here once before in a dream, but now it was different. Now he was fuelled not by desire, but by rage. It was the anger alone that kept him there, holding his ground, while his fear kept crying for him to turn around and run.

He lifted the key to the lock and turned it with a click. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and twisted, and the door swung open with no resistance. It was as dark inside the room as it was in the corridor, but he had come prepared. He held the lantern up in front of him as though he might somehow banish the shadows, but they just scuttled to the far corners where the light couldn’t reach them, and then they skulked there, waiting, as though watching him to see what he would do.

He stepped forward over the threshold and into the room.

It was sparsely furnished. There was a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe, but otherwise the room appeared to be empty. There was no evidence to say that this was the place where Mark slept, and yet he knew it was Mark’s room. He recognised it from the pornographic scenes that he’d witnessed in Mark’s office… those scenes which may or may not have been a dream. He swallowed. There was an atmosphere to this place. It made his heart beat faster. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

To his left was a door which probably led though to the ensuite bathroom. It was closed. He walked quietly across the carpet and pressed his ear against the door’s wooden surface, listening. He thought he could hear the quiet dripping of a tap. He put the lantern down on the desk, curled his fingers around the door handle, twisted, and pushed. He listened again – had he just heard a tiny movement from inside? Perhaps it was his imagination, playing tricks on him.

He pushed the door open wider and peered into the gloom. He didn’t actually want to go in. It was a confined space and there wouldn’t be much room to defend himself if someone jumped at him from the darkness. He could still hear the repetitive dripping of the tap, but that was all.

He took a breath. He wasn’t taking another step until he could see where he was going. He reached back towards the desk to take hold of the lantern.

The lantern wasn’t there.

It was on the far side of the desk, out of reach. How had it moved without him noticing the shifting of the shadows?

There was a quiet click from behind him. It was the sound of a door being pushed shut.

He whirled round, fists raised to defend himself.

“Hello, Miles.”

Mark was standing in front of the door, blocking the exit. His hair was almost black against the paleness of his skin and his crisp white suit. His eyes were guarded, but his expression was otherwise blank.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” he said.

Miles shivered at the sound of that dark, syrupy voice.

Mark didn’t move. He just stood there, stiff and watchful. “I take it you didn’t come here to share a drink and some stimulating conversation?” he said.

Miles felt his anger return like a punch to the throat. He seized the feeling and held on to it tight. “You’ve got some fuckin’ explaining to do,” he said.

“Do I indeed?”

Miles scowled. “Don’t play dumb with me. What the _hell_ ‘av yeh done to Alex?”

“Nothing that he didn’t ask me for,” Mark said. “Nothing that he didn’t desire.”

“And what the fuck would you know about what he desires, eh?”

Mark’s lips twisted into that aggravatingly crooked smile. For a moment it was almost as though he was trying to fight it, but in the end he just couldn’t help himself. “I know more than you might expect,” he said, and then he half closed one eye in a wink.

“You _fucker_.”

Miles moved without thinking. He hurtled across the room and slammed Mark backwards against the door. Mark grunted at the impact and tried to shove him off, but Miles grabbed him by the wrists and pinned his arms to his sides. “I know yeh’ve been watchin’ us, you creepy little _shit_,” he said. “I know yeh’ve been tryin’ to fuck with our dreams with yer _reality monitors_ or whatever the fuck they are. Is that what yeh get off on, eh? Fuckin’ with people’s heads while they’re asleep?”

Mark struggled in Miles’s grip. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed.

“Oh don’t I? I’ve seen what yeh were tryin’ to do to Alex. Annalise told me all about yer fuckin’ plans and yer magic doors and yer–”

Mark twisted suddenly and stamped down hard on Miles’s foot. Miles yelled as the pain flared through his instep and he lifted his leg up instinctively. Mark seized the instant he was off balance, rammed a shoulder into his chest and sent him toppling backwards on to the carpet. Miles dragged Mark down with him, still clinging hard to his wrists, but now Mark was on top and had the advantage; he drove his knee into Miles’s stomach and Miles choked as the air left his body. He curled defensively into a ball and the next thing he felt was Mark’s hands beneath his armpits dragging him backwards. He tried to fight him off, but his body was still weak from its earlier mistreatment and the effort was next to useless. He felt his back collide with something solid and then Mark yanked both his wrists roughly above his head. There was a sharp clicking sound, and then Mark was backing away from him fast, wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ say that fucking name to me again,” he said.

Miles stared at him in dull surprise. Even in the midst of his pain, he couldn’t help registering that this was the first time he’d heard Mark curse. He made an attempt to get back on his feet, but found that he wasn’t able to lower his arms. His stomach clenched into a tight knot as he glanced upwards and realised that Mark had shackled him to the bottom of the bedframe with a pair of leather cuffs.

“What the _fuck_ d’yeh think yer playin’ at?” he said. “You better fuckin’ lemme go right this second or–”

“Or you’ll do _what_, Miles? Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” Mark scraped a hand back through his hair, leaving it messy and dishevelled.

“What the _fuck_ is that s’posed to mean?”

“It was _you_ that let her out, wasn’t it?” Mark said. “You unlocked the door and you set her loose. You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“I know _exactly_ what I’ve done,” Miles spat. “I know she’s crazy and I know she’s fuckin’ comin’ for yeh. What did yeh expect when you locked her away in whatever fuckin’ place that was?”

“Don’t you think I might have locked her up for a good reason?” Mark said. “Did that never even _occur_ to you?”

“You locked us _both_ up just so you could get to Alex. Don’t fuckin’ pretend. You’ve been playin’ games with me this whole time, haven’t yeh? You were just tryin’ to distract me so yeh could get into Alex’s head and–”

“I locked you up because you gave me no choice, Miles. You _insisted_ on poking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted. And as for the so-called games to which you refer, I was simply trying to do you a favour–”

“How the _fuck_ is fillin’ me ‘ead full of your fucked up dreams doin’ me a _favour_?” Miles shouted. He struggled to free his hands but the cuffs wouldn’t budge.

Mark uttered an unpleasant laugh. “They’re _your_ dreams, Miles,” he said. “I didn’t put anything in your head that wasn’t there already. All I did was bring what I found to the surface. You can’t blame _me_ for _your_ desires.”

“Yer a fuckin’ liar.”

Mark shook his head. “What the hell do you take me for?” he said. “Why would I put my own desires into _your_ dreams? I’ve no interest in imposing myself on you in that way, regardless of what you may believe. I was just trying to _help_ you–”

“Oh yeah? What about Alex, then? Yer not fuckin’ helping him, are yeh, eh? Yeh’ve turned ‘im into a fuckin’ _shadow_. He don’t even remember who he _is_.”

Mark frowned and glanced away. “I tried to help him too,” he said, in a quieter voice. “I honestly did. I never wanted him to be unhappy. But in the end, there’s only so much I can do.” He looked back over at Miles. “I’m truly sorry about Alex,” he said. “But I don’t have a choice. It’s a… self-preservation thing.”

Miles yanked pointlessly on the cuffs. “What in the name of _fuck_ are yeh talkin’ about?”

Mark came nearer and crouched down close to Miles’s face. His jaw was set and his gaze was hard. “You let her _out_,” he said. “And who knows, maybe if you hadn’t, I could have found another way, eventually. I was _trying_. But now it’s too late.”

Miles shivered as a chill crept across his skin. “What d’yeh mean it’s too late?”

“I mean that I don’t intend to give up my own life just to save your friend,” Mark said. “I’m afraid it’s either him, or me.”

Miles’s heart turned to stone. “Yeh can’t be fuckin’ serious,” he said. “Why Alex, why does it have to be _him_?”

“Because,” Mark said. “He and I are the same. And because my sister won’t be satisfied until she has someone she can tear apart. I’m sorry, but that’s not going to be me, Miles. It’s _not_ going to be me.”

Mark stood up, straightened his shirt and brushed down his suit. Miles could do nothing but watch as Mark tossed the handcuff keys on to the desk with a clatter and picked up the lantern. The shadows dipped and danced across the ceiling as the light began to move.

“Please,” Miles said. “Just lemme go, yeah? I’ll– I’ll help yeh with yer sister, I’ll help yeh fight her if yeh want. Just please, don’t hurt Alex.”

Mark pulled open the door, then stopped in the doorway and looked back at him. His expression was resigned. “There’s no point in fighting her,” he said. “She’ll win. She always does.”

Miles pulled desperately at the cuffs. “Please,” he said again, and now his voice was a whine. “Just please, leave Alex alone, I’ll do anything yeh want.”

Mark sighed heavily. “It doesn’t work that way, Miles, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have to leave you now. I wish that we could have met under better circumstances.”

“You fuckin’ _bastard! _Leave him the fuck alone! If you touch him, if you even lay a fuckin’ _finger_ on him, I’ll kill you myself, I swear to _god_.”

Mark shook his head, but said nothing. He let the door swing wide and then he turned and disappeared out into the corridor. He took the light away with him, and it faded slowly along with his footsteps, until Miles was left all alone in the pitch black darkness, still shackled to the bed and powerless to do anything to stop him.


	25. Chapter 25

Alex woke with a gasp, and flinched as a crack of thunder sent a spike of adrenaline shooting through his bloodstream. He pushed the bed covers aside, went to the window and threw back the curtains. The lightning strobed across the room. It turned the trees outside the window into black silhouettes that reached up towards the sky with sharp, spiked fingers. Another harsh snap of thunder made him flinch again, and the sound of the rain intensified into an incessant hissing downpour.

He inhaled a few deep breaths. It was just the storm, nothing more. It was surely that which had woken him; just the thunder and the lightning, and the sobbing cry of the wind.

He frowned. _But it wasn’t just that._

He lifted his fingers to his face and brushed them gently across his mouth. No, it definitely wasn’t just the storm that had woken him. He’d been woken by a dream. A vivid dream of familiar lips… and a familiar kiss.

_Miles._

An uneasy feeling uncoiled in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d last seen Miles? Had it been longer than a day? How strange that he had not thought to ask himself that question before now. He lifted his hand to his face once more and rubbed his fingertips through the coarse hair on his cheeks. That didn’t seem right either.

He left the window and went to turn on the light, but clicking the switch did nothing. The storm had obviously knocked out the power again. He looked towards the candle that burned brightly beside the bed. He didn’t remember lighting it. Had someone else been in here with him?

He frowned and tried to concentrate, but his brain was drawing a blank. He couldn’t seem to recall what on earth he’d been doing before he’d found himself here in this room. He knew that at some point he’d been on the stage, playing to his adoring crowd, but even that recollection seemed oddly blurred. Yesterday was a grey empty space, and so was the day before that. Sifting through his memories was like looking at a bad photographer’s camera roll; every image out of focus. The only thing that was crystal clear was his dream of that familiar kiss. It chimed like a bell in the midst of all the fog; the only clear note in the misty, uncertain landscape of his mind.

He took the candle from beside the bed, went into the bathroom and met his reflection in the mirror. His eyes seemed too dark and too large for his face, and his skin far too pale. He’d lost weight, somehow, and it appeared that he hadn’t shaved for weeks. How had that happened? It wasn’t like him to forget a thing like that.

He reached for the single-use razor and the small bar of soap that lay wrapped in plastic on the bathroom counter, and he began to set his face to rights. It took some time, but by the end of it he was relieved to see himself look somewhat more familiar, though still strangely pale and gaunt.

He chewed distractedly on his bottom lip, scratched his fingers through his hair and padded back into the bedroom. He got dressed in one of Mark’s beige suits and then he returned to the window to stare out at the storm.

He wondered where Mark had got to. Even in his present haze, he had not forgotten that Mark usually came to call for him at around this time in the evening, a few hours before the show. Mark came for no reason other than the company now, as Alex no longer needed his help with the pre-show preparations. Alex was more than capable of commanding the audience’s attention for hours at a time using nothing but his own energy and willpower. He could write all day and play all night if he wanted to, and never feel the need to stop and rest. Every single word that he wrote was golden, and every note he played was perfect. It was everything he’d ever hoped for, everything he’d desired. It was like living a dream.

He lifted his hand to his face once more and ran his fingers over his lips. The ghost of a kiss still lingered there, like the memory of a different kind of dream; a dream he had forgotten until just now.

Where on earth was Miles? They had been here in the hotel together, he was sure of that, though the exact reason for it escaped him. Perhaps Miles had simply stopped by for a few days to watch him play with the band… or perhaps there had been a more primal reason for his visit… but in either case, Alex felt intuitively that the unsettling feeling in his stomach was somehow tied to Miles’s disappearance.

Perhaps he ought to go and look for him… though the idea held very little appeal. The thought of wandering the dark corridors of the hotel with nothing but a candle for comfort made him feel unaccountably edgy. Nonetheless, his instincts were tugging on him and insisting that something was wrong, and he couldn’t just force himself to ignore it.

He turned away from the window and moved to retrieve the candle, but paused as his gaze fell upon the table. His notebook lay there, looking rather worse for wear now; half its pages were loose and sticking out untidily, and he knew for a fact that the other half were ink-stained, torn and probably legible only to himself. He reached for it, picked it up, and traced his finger over the familiar ivy pattern on the cover. The action was vaguely comforting. He plucked out one of the loose pages and stuffed it absently into his jacket pocket, and then he returned the notebook to the safety of the bedside drawer.

He looked at his watch. He still had at least two hours to go before the show, and that was surely enough time to go for a bit of a wander around the hotel. It seemed that he didn’t have much choice in the matter; his mind obviously wasn’t going to let him rest until he had at least attempted to find out what’d happened to Miles.

He leant down to pick up the candle once again, but just as his fingers closed around the brass candlestick, he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He left the candle where it was. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Alex. Let me in, please?"

Alex moved over to the door and pulled it open. Mark was standing there in the darkened corridor, his face set in a grimace and his arms folded around himself as if he were cold.

Alex raised his eyebrows. “You okay?”

Mark gave a brief nod. “Can I come in?”

Alex stepped aside and allowed Mark to come past him. He closed the door just as another flash of lightning lit up every corner of the room.

“Some weather, right?” he said.

Mark opened his mouth, but his reply was drowned out by a crash of thunder so loud, it could have been the sound of the roof caving in. Mark flinched and curled in on himself even further.

Alex walked over to him. “Hey,” he said. “You sure there’s nowt wrong? You seem kinda jumpy.”

Mark didn’t smile. “It’s– it’s just the storm, that’s all,” he said. “I’m not a big fan of thunder and lightning.”

Alex nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, me neither. At least, not when I’m out in it.”

He frowned as an unexpected memory floated to the surface of his mind; a displaced image of himself and Miles fighting their way through just such a storm as was currently raging outside. The recollection was without context and meaningless, and yet he had a feeling that it was somehow significant.

Mark seemed to be giving him an odd look.

Alex stared back at him. “What?”

Some fleeting emotion passed over Mark’s face, too quick to be deciphered, and then he looked away and gestured towards the bed. “Would you mind if I sat down for a minute?”

Alex shrugged. “Be my guest,” he said, “but it’s gettin’ kinda late. Shouldn’t we head down to the bar soon and start settin’ up?”

Mark shook his head. “Come and sit with me first, I need to talk to you.”

Alex shrugged again and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Mark took a seat beside him, adjusted his suit jacket, and cleared his throat. “So I’m wondering,” he said, after a pause. “How do you feel your writing’s been progressing of late?”

Alex blinked. “Me writin’? Oh, well it’s– I mean, not to blow me own horn or anythin’, but it’s been goin’ pretty good, I guess. I’m writin’ new stuff every day now. It’s probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written, to be honest wi’ ya.” He stopped and frowned. “Why d’ya ask?”

Mark looked at him with a serious expression. “I think it’s about time,” he said. “That we have another go at summoning a door.”

Alex’s skin prickled into goose bumps. He became suddenly aware of his lungs contracting as he breathed in and out. “Um… is that really necessary?” he said. “I mean, I feel like– like I’ve got a handle on the whole writers’ block issue by now. I’m not sure that the door thing’ll make any difference.”

“Trust me, Alex,” Mark said. “It’ll make a difference. I promise it’s the very last thing you’ll have to do, and then you’ll be in complete control of all your creative abilities. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Alex frowned again. “I do want that, but…”

“But what?”

“Well… is it alright if I ask ya somethin’ first?”

Mark nodded. “Of course you can, you know you can ask me anything.”

Alex hesitated. He glanced down at his hands and shifted his position on the bed. “It’s just that… well, I had this really vivid dream earlier, just before ya got ‘ere.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It was– it was about Miles. I know he was here with me, here in the hotel, but I don’t remember why. Ever since I woke up, I feel like there’s all this– this stuff that I don’t remember.” Alex looked up and noticed that Mark had gone very still. “D’ya know summat about that?” he said. “D’ya know why I can’t remember?”

Mark said nothing, but he didn’t look away. The candlelight flickered across his face, catching at the sapphire in his brown irises. The thunder rolled again overhead, but this time he didn’t jump or flinch. There was a long pause.

Alex swallowed. “Mark,” he said. “What happened to Miles?”

Mark blinked slowly. “I’ve explained this to you, Alex,” he said. “Miles was here for a short while, but then he left. He’s no longer with us in the hotel.”

Alex shook his head. “That don’t– that don’t feel right to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt him. I felt him like he were right here, just now.”

“It was just a dream,” Mark said.

“Well– well what about me memory loss, then? Is that summat to do with the stuff we’ve been practicing? Because if so then I don’t like it. You never told me that forgetting stuff were a risk with any of that.”

“I understand that you’re feeling confused, Alex. If you let me, I can help you feel better.”

Mark stretched out a hand and his fingertips brushed against Alex’s forehead.

Alex reached up and grabbed hold of his wrist. “No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t think I want to feel better right now. I think I want ya to explain to me what’s goin’ on.”

Mark looked back at him in silence. He made no move to free himself from Alex’s grip.

Alex took a breath. “You asked me to trust ya a minute ago,” he said, watching Mark’s face as he spoke. “So can I? Can I trust ya?”

Mark dropped his gaze. “You can trust me when I say that I’d never willingly hurt you, Alex.”

Alex let go of Mark’s wrist. “So tell me the truth, then. Have the visualisation exercises you’ve been teachin’ me been affecting me memories?”

“I’m afraid it’s a little more complex than that,” Mark said. “But I will try to explain. I suppose I do owe you that much.”

He stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. Outside, the storm was still raging. The rain threw itself against the glass and every so often the room flickered with cold white light.

“The trouble with turning your dreams into reality,” he said. “Is that it works both ways.”

“What does that mean?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Mark turned abruptly and threw the windows wide. The storm blew into the room, extinguishing the candle and throwing everything into darkness. The rain swept across the carpet, the table and the bed, but Mark just stood there oblivious, his outline silhouetted against the recurrent flashes of lightning and the dim light of the moon.

Alex got to his feet. “Hey, what the hell are ya doin’?” he said. “Close the bloody window, you’ll get soaked.” He marched across the room and seized Mark by the elbow, but Mark ignored him and refused to be dragged back out of the rain. Instead he turned and grasped Alex firmly by the shoulders.

“Look Alex,” he said. “It can’t touch us.”

Alex raised his voice so he could be heard above the relentless crashing of the thunder. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, man.”

Mark pushed him backwards towards the window and Alex instinctively screwed up his face against the inevitable onslaught of freezing cold rain water.

Nothing happened. He blinked, looked down at himself and found his clothes were completely dry. The rain was pouring into the room, blowing across the very spot where he stood, but neither he nor the carpets, the bed, nor the curtains were wet at all. It was like the storm wasn’t even real.

Alex held his dry arms out in front of him and stared at them incredulously. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?” he said. “What the hell’s wrong with the rain?”

“It’s not the rain, Alex,” Mark said.

Alex looked back up at him and his chest grew tight. Mark’s hair wasn’t even blowing in the wind, and his clothes were unmarked by any sign of damp. It was as though he and the storm didn’t share the same space, like he was somehow immune to it.

Alex turned back towards the window, stretched out his palm and watched as the raindrops smashed against his skin one by one. He felt nothing. His skin remained utterly dry, just like Mark’s, just like everything else inside the room.

“What the hell is this?” he said hoarsely. “What’s happened to me?”

“It’s a gift, Alex,” Mark said. “I gave it to you. I helped you learn how to live your dreams. But everything comes at a price.” He took a step closer. Alex took a step back. Mark looked at him with an unsettling smile. “The reason that your memories are fading is because you no longer belong to the world out there,” he said. “You belong in here, to this place.”

Alex’s eyes darted around the room, and then back to Mark. “What fuckin’ place?”

“The place you always dreamt about, Alex. It’s here, just as you imagined it. Here, all your desires will become reality. You can write, play and sing, your audiences will always love you, and you’ll never run out of words.” Mark took another step towards him. “You’ve been happy here, haven’t you? You’ve been happy here with me?”

Alex stood rigid as Mark came closer. His body didn’t seem to want to move.

“I’m offering all this to you, Alex,” Mark said. “It’s all yours for the taking, and I ask only one thing in return. Step through the door, and let me step into your place. The world out there wasn’t meant for you. Your mind is too unique. It’s wasted there. But across the threshold, you can do anything, be anything you want, for as long as you desire.”

Alex blinked. Mark’s words were stirring some vague, half-forgotten memory. _This place. This hotel. The place I dreamt about._ His eyes darted once more to the four walls of the room, and to the door.

“You think that’s what I want?” he said. “You– you think I wanna live in a world of me own imagination with nowt but meself and what I’ve invented for company?” He stepped backwards, out of Mark’s reach. “You’ve got me all wrong.”

Mark tilted his head to one side. “Have I though?” he said. “Please forgive me if I’m mistaken, but wasn’t that the choice you made? You chose to stay here, you asked me to teach you, and you forgot about your friend quickly enough once you got up on that stage.” He smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed serious. “I think I know what you really want, Alex,” he said. “I think I know it better than you know yourself.”

Alex shook his head. “That’s not true. I care about Miles. I’ve always cared about Miles.”

Mark shrugged. “Not enough,” he said.

Alex stared at him, suddenly gripped with a cold certainty. “It was _you_,” he said. “You took away me memories and you made me forget ‘im, didn’t you? Where is he? What the fuck did ya do to ‘im?”

Mark sighed. “He was getting in the way of our work,” he said, “so I sent him on a little trip.” His forehead creased and a scowl stole over his features. “As it happens, that turned out to be a terrible mistake.”

Alex’s hands tightened slowly into fists. “A _mistake_?”

“Yes,” Mark said. His frown deepened. “I should’ve made sure that he could never come back.”

Alex gave a yell and hurled himself forwards. He grabbed Mark by the collar and slammed him back against the wall. Mark’s eyes went wide and he raised his fists to retaliate, but Alex was faster; moving on pure instinct, he jabbed his fingers into Mark’s forehead and pressed down hard. Mark gave a cry and began to struggle, but Alex held firm, even as his vision darkened and his mind began to flood with a turbulent sea of images.

_He and Miles writing together in Alex’s home studio. Miles in his bed, breathing against his ear and holding him close. He and Miles stranded by the side of an empty highway. He and Miles seeking shelter beneath the eaves of a tumbledown, ivy-choked building. Miles looking down at him with his beautiful, ray-of-sunshine smile. Miles kissing him on the cheek, on the neck… on the lips. _

Alex winced at a sudden blow to his chest. He staggered backwards and collided with the edge of the bed. Mark was staring at him with an incredulous expression, panting for breath and leaning heavily against the wall. “You– you don’t know your own strength, Alex,” he said.

Alex glared at him. “I _remember_,” he said. “I remember why I decided to let you teach me. You’re wrong, it _weren’t_ purely selfish. It was for Miles. I was tryin’ to protect _Miles_ from– from this thing that’s wrong with me.”

Mark shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said.

“Nowt wrong? This whole _place_ is wrong. It shouldn’t even _exist_. I imagined it, you said so yourself. Just like I imagined the thing between me an’ Miles. I can’t control it. I can’t be trusted. All I wanted was for Miles to be happy, to be _safe_.” He let out a bitter sigh. “Guess I fucked that one up too.”

Mark stepped away from the wall. “I think you’re giving yourself far too much credit.”

Alex scowled. “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

Mark took another step closer. “I mean that Miles is a man who knows what he wants, deep down. And a man like that is not easy to influence.”

“What are ya sayin’?”

Mark gave him another unsettling smile. “I’ve been watching the two of you,” he said. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I know you’ve been burying your feelings for years. You buried them so deep you barely even knew they existed. It was tragic, really.” His smile grew wider. “Anyway,” he said. “Since it’s not really in my nature to let sleeping dogs lie, I eventually decided to lend you a hand…”

Alex stared at him. His mind suddenly flashed him a memory of Miles lying beside him on his bed, on that very first night when they were together; and of that whispering voice inside his mind. _Kiss me,_ it’d said. And then Miles had.

“You fuckin’ piece of–” He advanced on Mark, grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and jerked him violently forwards. “That was _you_?” he said. “You made Miles _kiss_ me? What in the name of _fuck_–”

Mark struggled in Alex’s grip. “Oh calm down,” he said. “I didn’t do anything to your precious Miles_,_ did I? I didn’t _need_ to in the end; he got there all by himself.”

Alex went very still. “What?”

“I told you,” Mark said. “Miles is not an easy man to influence. Unlike you, my unfortunate friend.”

Without warning, Mark wrenched free of Alex’s hold. He threw himself forward and drove his knee straight into Alex’s groin. Alex buckled with a cry of pain and collapsed instantly to the floor.

Mark stood over him, looking down. “You really thought you were the one in control?” he said. “You thought you were the one making everything happen? I have to say that’s a little presuming on your part, but I do admire your confidence.”

Alex tried to uncurl and get up, but the stab in his guts wouldn’t let him. “Fuck _you_.”

Mark shook his head. “You have a beautiful imagination, Alex, I’ll give you that, and maybe you did imagine this place, but _I_ was the one who built it. I built it just for you, and now it’ll be yours forever – your own perfect dream come true.”

“S’not a dream, it’s a fuckin’ _nightmare_.”

Mark tutted under his breath. “I don’t deal in nightmares, my friend.” He knelt down by Alex’s side and dragged him into an upright sitting position. Alex tried to twist free but Mark delivered a sharp elbow to his stomach and he doubled over in pain. Mark seized hold of both of his wrists and held them fast. “Please don’t do that,” he said. “It’ll hurt much less if you don’t fight me.”

Alex let out a bitter breathless laugh. “And there was you tellin’ me I could trust ya.”

Mark sighed. “I told you I would never hurt you _willingly_, and believe me, I would really rather not.”

Alex threw his body to the right and was rewarded with another swift elbow to the stomach. A wave of nausea washed over him as Mark dragged him back into a sitting position and shoved him up against the side of the bed.

“Give it up, Alex,” Mark hissed. “It’s over, please just come to terms with it. It’s not like you can leave this place now, is it?”

“You just watch me,” Alex snarled back. “First I’m gonna kick the shit outta you, then I’m gonna find Miles, and then I’m gonna burn this place to the fuckin’ _ground_.”

Mark let out another weary sigh. “My dear friend, I thought I’d made it clear,” he said. “The world out there can’t touch you anymore, and neither can you touch _it_. This place, it’s the only thing tethering you to this reality, and if you go beyond its bounds…” He paused and gave Alex a meaningful look.

Alex tried to inhale a breath and ended up choking on it. “You’re fuckin’ tellin’ me that I’ll– I’ll _die_ if I leave the hotel?”

“No,” Mark said. “I’m telling you that, figuratively speaking, you’re already dead – to this world at least. All that remains is for you to cross over.” He moved to grip Alex’s wrists securely in just one hand and then he pushed his knee into Alex’s chest. With his free hand he reached up and pressed his fingertips to Alex’s forehead.

Alex jerked his face away. “Why the fuck are ya doin’ this, eh?” he said. “If you’re so fuckin’ proud of buildin’ this place, why don’t ya just _stay_ here and leave me an’ Miles the fuck _alone_?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Mark said, but his features knitted into a frown as he spoke. His eyes darted briefly towards the door.

Alex knew that expression. He’d seen it on Mark’s face before. “You’re _afraid_ of summat, aren’t ya?” he said. “What is it?”

Mark glared at him. “I’m not afraid.”

Alex curled his lip deliberately into a smirk. “Yeah, you are. What’s the matter, someone after ya? Bet ya did summat to deserve it–”

“Shut your mouth,” Mark hissed. His grip on Alex’s wrists tightened. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s why you want out of ‘ere though, innit?” Alex spat back. “Someone’s after ya and you’re just runnin’ away like a coward–”

“Don’t try to bait me, Alex,” Mark said. “It won’t work. Besides, you’ll soon change your attitude when my sister comes looking for you as well.” He glanced again towards the door, then lowered his voice. “She _loathes_ creatures like us,” he said. “She thinks we’re unnatural. She thinks the boundaries of reality aren’t meant to be tampered with – but I’m telling you, Alex, it’s a lie. Ours is a gift which is meant to be _expressed_, not buried. The truth is she just hates whatever she can’t control. She’s crazy. She’d rather destroy us than try to understand us–”

“What in the hell are ya _talkin’_ about? And stop sayin ‘us’ – we’re _nothing_ alike.”

“I beg to differ,” Mark said. “You and I, we’re liminal beings, Alex. We exist on the border between dreams and reality. We can create new worlds with our minds, with our desires, and we can move between them at will. You and I are the same.”

“We’re _not_ the same,” Alex said. “For a start, I’m not a complete fuckin’ psycho, and second of all this bloody hotel isn’t even _real_, I made it _up_, and that makes you just a– a _figment_ of me fuckin’ _imagination_.”

Mark gave him a sad smile. He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers gently over Alex’s cheek. “My dear friend,” he said. “You may have brought me here in the beginning, but things have changed. The truth is that now you’re just as much a part of my dream, as I am of yours.”

“I am _not_ your fuckin’ _friend_.” Alex jerked away from Mark’s touch, retracted his right leg with a sharp movement and _kicked_. The angle was awkward and there was scant force behind it, but it caught Mark by surprise. He overbalanced and swayed to the left and Alex hijacked the momentum with a swift sideways lunge. Mark toppled over with a yell and Alex wrenched his wrists free and threw himself across Mark’s body, pinning a knee to his chest and holding him down. He aimed a quick punch at Mark’s head but missed as Mark held up his arms as a shield, and then suddenly they were fighting; slapping and punching and scratching at each other as the lightning flashed across the room and the rain streamed in through the open window.

Alex threw all his weight behind his knee so that Mark couldn’t move. He caught a glancing blow across the jaw but it barely registered; his brain was in survival mode, his bloodstream pumping with adrenaline, his body moving on instinct alone. He caught hold of one of Mark’s flailing wrists and pinned it down, leaving Mark with only one arm left to defend himself, and with his other hand he dealt two vicious jabs to Mark’s side, making Mark hiss with pain and his eyes squeeze shut. Alex seized upon the brief moment of distraction and twisted his fingers hard into the centre of Mark’s forehead.

Mark cried out and Alex gasped as colours exploded at the edges of his vision. Sudden bursts of orange and blue flashed out across the room and mingled with the flicker of the lightning, and all at once everything around him was pulsing and shimmering and Alex could barely see straight. Mark struggled and tried to buck him off, his one free hand yanking at the wrist that Alex had pressed to his head, but Alex curled his fingers into claws and pushed down even harder. He forced his eyes to stay open as the colours grew brighter and began to knit themselves into a dazzling display. He glanced down at his hands and– what the fuck was _this_ now, was his skin actually _glowing_? Vivid blue light clung to him just like a mist, and Mark too was emanating some weird orange aura. Was he dreaming? Mark didn’t even _look_ like himself anymore; he had somehow transformed into a strange luminous creature made only of fire and anger – and fear.

It was fear too, because Alex could feel it. He could feel Mark’s emotions pulsing through his blood alongside his own, sharp and bitter and potent; and beyond the emotions and the colours now were the words, shrieking through his mind like the scrape of fingernails across a board.

_alex save me help annalise get away escape Help alex save me alex Alex ALEX_

“Stop!” Alex yelled out. “_Please_. Stop this!”

He pushed all his fingers down against Mark’s forehead at once and twisted them to the right as if turning a dial.

Mark screamed and the whole world went dark.

* * *

Alex blinked.

The room had vanished. He was floating, weightless, in a starless sky. He could no longer feel the beat of his heart or the rush of his blood. Nor could he hear the rapid gasp of his breathing. The air all around him was still and quiet.

He looked up.

His eyes fell upon a network of thin golden threads, hung high above him like an intricate web. It flickered with pulses of faint orange light, and the light travelled along the length of each thread like messages dancing along a copper wire.

He swallowed hard. He knew this place.

He spun on his axis and turned to look behind him. There in the distance hung a glowing nebula, not blue as he had seen before, but a shimmering orange. It burned bright in the midst of the darkness… and yet it was not the brightest thing in the sky. Floating in the air between himself and the nebula, there was a being.

The being was shaped like a man, and yet it was clearly not a man. Its body was wreathed in a living flame, its face was aglow like embers, and gazing back at him from within that face were two wide sapphire eyes, blue from edge to edge and bright as a late summer sky.

“_Alex_,” it whispered.

He shivered at the sound. The creature spoke like it had two voices at once; two voices layered in an impossible harmony.

His own voice stayed trapped in his throat as the creature approached him. It stepped through the air as if it were walking across solid ground. Its body flickered as though caught in an invisible breeze, and its blue eyes burned with a glacial fire.

Before he could react further, it had closed the distance between them. It stepped right into his space and curled its fingers tightly around his shoulders. He stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away from its burning face.

“_Alex_,” it whispered.

“What– what do you want?”

The creature stared at him without blinking and its fingers gripped him harder. “_Please,_” it said. “_Save me._”

His heart fluttered. “What do you mean?”

The creature gave a mournful sigh. “_Please_,” it whispered.

“What– I– I don’t understand.”

The creature sighed again. Its eyes shimmered like jewels and there was nothing about them that was human… and yet he thought that he could see within them an unmistakeably human sadness.

He began to move slowly, as if in a dream. He lifted his hand to the creature’s face. He found that his body was still wreathed in that dazzling blue aura; it pulsed gently and curled all around him just like a second skin.

The creature’s face was perfectly cool beneath his touch. He swept his fingers across its blazing cheek and watched in fascination as his blue light mingled with the orange fire of its body. He stared into its strange sapphire eyes and the creature gazed back. “_Alex_,” it whispered. “_Please._”

“It’ll… it’ll be okay,” Alex said. His words were automatic. He didn’t understand what the creature wanted, but he could feel its fear like it was his own; its emotions were flooding through his consciousness in a dark wave and he found himself gripped with an overwhelming urge to give comfort.

The creature exhaled a warm breath of air against his cheek. They were standing so close now that their two auras had blended, the colours woven together into one perfect shade of cobalt and gold. The new colour swirled around them like a membrane. He closed his eyes and saw the same colour in his mind, as if it had seeped into every pore and every vein of his body. He heard the creature sigh once more and he inhaled its breath along with his own, and then without warning he felt the unexpected brush of its lips against his mouth.

He pulled back, blinked his eyes wide and looked into its face. He raised his eyebrows in a question. The creature remained still, staring at him in silence. Its aura had faded and its body was flickering worse than ever. He opened his mouth to speak, though to say what, he wasn’t sure – but too late. Before his eyes, the creature dimmed like a candle exposed to a stray breath of air, and when he blinked once again, he found that his hands were empty.

The creature was gone, and he was there all alone. He was staring at nothing but the endless, starless sky.

* * *

Alex opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. The hotel room was just as he’d left it. The curtains still hung lifeless despite the howl of the wind, the rain was still pouring in through the wide open windows, and the storm was still clamouring as though it would never, ever stop.

He flinched as the thunder cracked and rolled, while the building itself creaked and the lightning flung the shadows to every corner of the room.

Once more he found himself all alone in the dark.

He was the only one there.

Mark was nowhere to be seen.


	26. Chapter 26

Alex was filled with an eerie certainty as he lit the lantern and stepped out into the dark corridor. Miles was somewhere in the hotel, he was bloody sure of it. He had no evidence to say so other than a gut feeling, but his feet were leading him determinedly towards the stairs, and towards the fifth floor, as though they knew more than he did as to what Mark had done with Miles.

Mark had not reappeared, but Alex couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder every few seconds in case he was being followed. He still had a strange sense of Mark’s presence. It seemed to emanate from the walls like an invisible vapour.

It wasn’t the only thing emanating from the walls. The fluttering beam of the lantern revealed fissures and cracks that he was certain hadn’t been there earlier in the day, and yet through the cracks crept the same choking ivy that strangled the brickwork on the outside of the building. It was coming up through gaps in the floor and twisting in tendrils around his feet as he walked. The rain was still drumming in the distance, and every few minutes came a snap of thunder that felt loud enough to shatter glass. He could feel the vibrations of it in the base of his throat.

His heart rate grew faster the closer he got to the top of the building, and when he reached the fifth floor corridor he had to pause to gulp for air as his breathing had become too quick and too light to carry him any further. The corridor was as dark as all the others, but seemed longer and narrower somehow, as though space had warped around it to create the impression of an infinitely receding vanishing point. He took careful steps and held the lantern far out in front of him, but it felt as though he was walking merely to stay still, the length of the corridor increasing even as he picked up his pace. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and forced himself not to run. If he began to run now, he might never stop.

He began to approach the middle of the corridor, and his feet seemed to slow down of their own accord. That was when he noticed that the door to Mark’s private room stood ajar. He stopped and backed up hard against the wall, feeling as though a hand had clenched tight around his windpipe. He wasn’t ready to face Mark again yet. He still felt bruised and unsettled from their earlier encounter. In a second confrontation he might not prove so lucky. He desperately wanted to dissolve into the shadows, to hunch down into a ball and hide until the daylight came to rescue him – but no, he wouldn’t do that. For Miles’s sake, he wouldn’t. His instincts had led him up here, and now there was nothing else he could do except follow them.

He kept very still and listened for movement, but he heard only the creaks and groans of the building as it bowed and suffered in the wind. He edged towards the open door and slid his hand around the doorframe. He could hear the sound of someone breathing.

_Now or never._ He gritted his teeth, gave the door a hard shove and burst into the room with arms raised to protect himself. He held the lantern aloft, eyes everywhere at once, and froze at the sight of the lone figure hunched up on the floor. His hands were bound to the bedframe, his eyes wide and defiant, and Alex choked as he felt his heartbeat rise into his throat. He cast the lantern down on the desk, bolted forward and–

* * *

“Get the fuck away from me, you piece of shit!”

Mark stopped dead in his tracks as though Miles had just slapped him. “Miles,” he said in a thick Yorkshire accent. “It’s _me_.”

Miles’s heart lurched. He stared hard at the face of the man stood frozen in front of him. He took in the unkempt curl of his hair, the familiar gold chain around his neck… and the ordinary brown of his eyes. “_Alex_?” he said. “Why in the _hell_ are yeh wearin’ Mark’s clothes?”

“Christ, Miles, are ya really gonna give me a lecture on me bloody outfit right now?”

Miles kept staring. It was Alex. It was really fucking _Alex_.

He made a small strangled noise. “Al–”

Alex surged forwards, wrapped both arms round Miles’s chest and squeezed him so hard that for a second Miles couldn’t breathe. “Miles,” he said, his voice muffled against Miles’s neck, “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. What happened? Are you alright? Did he hurt ya? Did he–”

“Sssssh, I’m fine, I’m fine–”

“You’re not bloody _fine_, Miles, how can ya say you’re _fine_–” Alex practically spat out the words. He reached up to where Miles’s hands were cuffed to the bedframe and he began to rub soothing circles into Miles’s wrists. “I swear to _god_ if he fuckin’ hurt ya, I’ll–”

“Alex,” Miles said. “Stop. Look at me, yeah?”

Alex stopped. He looked as though he was about to burst into tears.

Miles fought to keep his voice steady. “I swear to yeh, okay – I’m alright. Nuffin happened. Me arms ‘av gone to sleep, but that’s about it. Okay?”

Alex stared at him, seeming to search his face for any sign of pain or distress. “Promise me?” he said. Promise you’re okay? Don’t lie to me if you’re not.”

“I would never lie to yeh.”

Alex blinked hard a few times and nodded. Miles could see he was shivering.

“Al, what about you? What happened, did he–”

Alex silenced him with a kiss. He cupped his hands to each side of Miles’s face and caressed his thumbs gently over Miles’s cheekbones. “I missed ya so fuckin’ much,” he whispered. “I– I’ve fucked it all up for us, Miles. I’m so sorry, I– I’ve made a complete mess of everythin’–” His voice caught in his throat. Miles ached to be able to reach out and hold him.

“Yeh haven’t fucked it up, we’re gonna be alright. We’ll get the fuck out of ‘ere, yeah, and if we have to bloody _walk_ back to civilisation then we will–”

Alex was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, ya don’t understand. I– I can’t leave the hotel. Mark said. I’m not– I’m not real anymore, not out there. I’ll not survive if I leave. It’s too late.” And then Alex did begin to cry, silent tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Al, that’s not true,” Miles said. “Mark’s a liar, he–”

“Not about this. I’ve seen it, and– and I just know it’s true. I can _feel_ it’s true. I’m– I’m not sure if I’m even _human_ anymore. I know ya don’t believe me–”

“I believe yeh,” Miles said softly.

Alex looked up at him. He wiped his tears roughly on the back of his hand. “We can still get you outta here though,” he said. “You– you need to leave, man, before Mark comes back. He disappeared and I dunno where he went, but I can feel he’s not far. He don’t care about you, man, he just wants me. You should–”

“Stop, just stop.” Miles looked at Alex and slowly shook his head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “I’m stayin’ right here, with you.”

“Miles, don’t be–”

“Don’t fuckin’ argue with me, Alex. I’m not leavin’ yeh. I’m never leavin’ yeh again, yeah? No, _listen_ to me, let me say what I need to say.”

Alex closed his mouth with an unhappy frown.

Miles took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “No matter what happens– even if– even if something bad happens to us tonight… if it comes down to that, then I’d still choose to stay, okay? I’d rather be ‘ere with you now, for however long we get, than have to face the rest of me miserable fuckin’ life without yeh.”

Alex shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re sayin–”

“I know exactly what I’m fuckin’ sayin’ and I’m not gonna be afraid to say it either. Not after– not after I nearly lost yeh. I can’t– I don’t– it doesn’t _matter_ if you don’t feel the same way, I’m not askin’ for anythin’. But yeh need to know, that’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve felt for– for a long time.”

Alex stared at him mutely. Miles could feel the weight of his confession hanging in the air between them – but he didn’t care. If this really was all the time they had left together, then he was going to make it count.

“Miles…” Alex started.

Miles shook his head. “I mean it, Al, yeh don’t have to say anythin’. It’s fine, this is on me. I just wanted yeh to know, yer not alone. I’m– I’m yours, okay? I know how that sounds, but that’s the truth. So whether yeh want me or not, I’m not gonna leave this place without yeh.”

Alex said nothing for almost a minute. It felt like an eternity of silence. Finally, just when Miles felt that he couldn’t bear it any longer, Alex pushed a hand back through his hair and cleared his throat. “Do ya really mean that?” he said. His voice was low, hardly above a whisper.

“Of course I bloody do.”

Alex dropped his gaze. “I’m– I’m a fuckin’ idiot, then, aren’t I?” he said. His hands moved restlessly in his lap as he spoke. “I really thought that– that I’d just imagined all this.” He made a gesture in the air, indicating the two of them. “Mark told me it weren’t so, but I was afraid that I’d pushed you into it somehow. I was so scared that you didn’t really want any of it, and I just didn’t– I couldn’t– oh _Christ_, I don’t even know what’s real and what’s not anymore, Miles.” His voice hitched and his throat worked as he swallowed. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes again.

“Al, come ‘ere.” Miles said. Alex looked at him blankly for a second, but then he moved forward so that Miles could reach him. Miles leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s forehead, and then to each of his eyelids. “_This_ is what’s real, okay?” he said softly. “You and me, here, together. _Fuck_ everything else. That’s all that matters.”

Alex leaned their heads together and closed his eyes. “I– I know. I’ve realised that, haven’t I? And– and everythin’ ya said, it’s– I feel the same way. Love doesn’t– it doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He swallowed and drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m just so bloody sorry,” he said. “For everythin’ I’ve put us through, and for landing us in this fuckin’ place. But you – you should just leave me ‘ere, man. I’m – I’m not worth it–”

“Alex, don’t–”

“No, listen,” Alex said. “I’m not meself anymore. I– I’m not even sure whether I really _exist_ or not.” His voice broke down and he stuttered over his words. “I just– I know ya don’t understand what I mean, but I don’t even feel _real_ anymore, Miles.”

Miles held still, feeling Alex’s warm breath ghosting over his face. He could still see the glistening traces of tears on his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “Kiss me, then,” he said.

“What?”

“Just kiss me, Alex. I’ll show yeh what’s real. Please.”

Alex hesitated, and for a moment Miles thought he was going to refuse, but then he moved closer and pressed his lips tentatively to Miles’s mouth. His lips were warm and the taste of him was achingly familiar, and yet Miles felt almost as though they’d never kissed each other before. His heart was beating with the spoken reality of his feelings, and with the burning knowledge that Alex was kissing him in full awareness and reciprocation of those feelings. It was as though every secret part of himself was suddenly laid bare beneath the soft pressure of Alex’s mouth, and the thought of it made him dizzy. He parted his lips to allow Alex to deepen the kiss, and Alex let out a soft murmur. It sent a flush of heat racing over Miles’s skin and he became suddenly conscious of how vulnerable his position was, his arms still bound above his head while Alex cupped his face with both hands, sliding his fingers into Miles’s hair.

Miles sighed into the kiss. He couldn’t help it. He felt Alex’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. Alex pulled back and looked at him, and his eyes were bright, his face flushed.

“I feel…” he said.

Miles nodded. “I know,” he said. “Kiss me again.”

Alex leaned in and kissed him more deeply than before, biting gently at Miles’s lips. His fingers tightened in Miles’s hair and Miles found himself unable to prevent the small sounds that escaped him with every dip of Alex’s tongue.

“Alex,” he murmured.

As though Miles had given him a signal, Alex wrapped both his arms around Miles’s shoulders and climbed right into his lap. He sat with one knee either side of Miles’s hips, never breaking the kiss, and the contact sent heat pooling into the pit of Miles’s stomach. Despite that, Alex felt disconcertingly light, and Miles remembered how easily he had carried him from the fifth floor to their room. He pressed his tongue into Alex’s mouth and took control of the kiss, and Alex moaned quietly and wrapped himself more tightly around Miles’s body.

Miles felt himself beginning to grow hard, and Alex must have noticed as well because he pulled away, his expression all at once clouded with uncertainty.

“Miles,” he said. “Should we– should we be doin’ this? What if Mark comes, what if–”

Miles leaned in and kissed him again. “I don’t _care_,” he said. “We’re trapped here, like yeh said, and fuck it if I’m not gonna make the most of whatever time we have left.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the underside of Alex’s jaw, grazing his teeth lightly across the skin. He felt Alex shiver.

“But– but we need to get ya outta these bloody restraints,” Alex whispered against his ear. “I need to find a– a knife or summat to–”

“S’fine, the keys are on the desk.”

Alex leant backwards and stared at him. “Well, why didn’t ya bloody well _say_ so?” he said. “Lemme getcha out of these things and then–”

“Don’t,” Miles said.

“What?”

Miles’s heartbeat began pulsing in his throat. He took a breath to steady himself. “I said, don’t. Just get up and lock the door.”

Alex was still staring at him, but not in the same way as before. There was something darker in his eyes now, a look which sent a wave of arousal flooding through Miles’s body.

“Jesus, Miles,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure. Hurry up.”

Alex pushed himself up off Miles’s lap and scrambled to his feet. He crossed the room in three quick strides and shoved the door shut. The click of the lock seemed very loud, despite the ongoing rumble of the storm and the hiss of the rain pelting against the window. The lantern cast flickering shadows across the ceiling and the darkness pooled like oil in the furthest corners of the room.

Miles had barely blinked before Alex was straddling his lap once again, the weight of him somehow more reassuringly solid than before. Alex pushed him backwards against the foot of the bed and pressed a kiss to his neck. Miles tipped his head back to allow him better access and whimpered as he felt Alex’s teeth scrape gently over the sensitive skin of his throat. Alex moved from his neck back up to his lips, and the hot flash of Alex’s tongue made him gasp. Alex licked into his mouth and his hands wandered down to Miles’s waist and gripped him tight, holding him still.

Miles almost choked at the sudden unexpected roll of Alex’s hips against his pelvis. “Fuck,” he said. “Do that again.”

Alex didn’t move. He locked eyes with Miles and stared at him for a moment, his expression intense and serious. “Say please," he said.

Miles inhaled sharply. Heat pooled even lower in his stomach. “Please,” he whispered.

Alex rewarded him with another deep roll of his hips and Miles swore. He tipped his head back again and Alex began pressing rough, biting kisses to the exposed skin of his neck and collarbones. Miles could feel the hardness of him through their layers of clothing and his breathing grew heavier and more ragged as his own body responded in kind. He could do nothing but pant and moan as Alex continued to grind him into the carpet, his feelings of pleasure mingling with his feelings of helplessness and making his head spin.

Alex’s hands suddenly disappeared from his waist and he looked down to see Alex fumbling with his own clothing. Miles stared as Alex unzipped his trousers, took himself in hand and began to move his fist in slow smooth strokes. He pressed his other hand against the bedframe for support and brought his mouth close to Miles’s ear. His breathing became shallow and quick as he pleasured himself, and every little gasp and whimper he made set Miles’s nerve endings alight.

_Fuck_.

Miles tugged against the restraints but he was going nowhere. Alex whined and panted and _Jesus Christ_, Miles wanted to touch him right now, but he was strapped down and could barely move an inch. The sounds that Alex was making in his ear were driving him mad.

“_Alex_,” he said, and it was more of a plea than anything else. He could hear the note of desperation in his own voice.

Alex pulled back and gazed at him, and Miles blinked as realisation sent another wave of arousal surging through his body. _Fuck me,_ _he’s actually winding me up on purpose_.

He opened his mouth to make some retaliatory comment, but his resolution dissolved as Alex reached for the waistband of his jeans. He gasped as Alex’s fingers sank below his hips. His nerves were swirling in the face of Alex’s unexpected confidence and he was almost relieved to notice that Alex’s hands were shaking slightly as he fumbled with the buttons; it was a relief, however, too soon forgotten as Alex’s fingers curled deftly around his cock and squeezed. Miles let out an involuntary yelp, but Alex gave him no time to adjust to the sensation; mere moments later he was dipping his head and then Miles’s senses were swimming amidst the warm, tight heat of Alex’s mouth. His hips bucked helplessly into the smooth sweep of Alex’s tongue, and he found himself without the remotest control over the noises that Alex was pulling out of him.

“Alex, _fuck_. Fucking _Christ_–”

He threw his head back against the bed, his mouth falling open as Alex continued to trace patterns with his tongue, his fingers pressing into Miles’s hips hard enough to bruise. Miles could feel the threads of an orgasm beginning to build in his abdomen, the pleasure washing through his body in slowly growing waves, his skin tingling and his stomach muscles clenching helplessly. He tried to give Alex a verbal warning that he was getting close, but the words turned into a moan.

Alex pulled away just as Miles began to teeter on the edge. He leaned in and pressed his face against Miles’s cheek. “I want you,” he whispered, right into Miles’s ear. His voice was rough, pitched even lower than usual and the sound of it made Miles’s stomach flip over. “I’m gonna uncuff ya now,” he said. “And you’re just gonna go lay down on the bed for me, okay?”

Miles was nodding before Alex had even finished speaking. “Yeah, fine, whatever yeh want.”

Alex pressed another rough kiss to his neck before pushing himself up out of Miles’s lap. Moments later his hands were at Miles's wrists and there was a gentle clicking sound, and then finally Alex was pulling him free of the cuffs, tugging on his arms and lifting him to his feet. Miles had to fight off the urge to simply seize hold of Alex then and there; instead he forced his hands to his sides and allowed Alex to walk him back towards the bed. His arms ached and tingled with pins and needles and every inch of his body was burning as he collapsed backwards on to the mattress with Alex on top of him.

Alex crawled up him until they were lying face to face. “I want to fuck you,” he murmured against Miles’s lips. “Do you want me to?”

“Fucking _hell_.” Miles gasped as Alex’s hand slid between his thighs. The touch was like electricity. Alex kissed him and Miles moaned into his mouth, tasting himself on Alex’s tongue.

“Answer me,” Alex said.

“Yes– _Christ_– yes, I want yeh to– _fuck_, Alex, I’m gonna come if yeh keep that up.”

Alex let out a breathless sigh against his ear. “Hold on.” He got up and moved away and Miles heard him rifling through the drawers in the bedside cabinet. Miles kept very still, lying on his back, so turned on he could barely move. He knew that Alex would find what he was looking for – this was Mark’s room after all. He tried to slow his breathing, to calm himself, but the thought of Alex fucking him had sent his stomach fluttering. They’d never done it that way before. He’d thought about it of course, fantasised about it even, but Alex’s general passivity in bed had always prevented him from suggesting it.

Until now. Alex wasn’t being passive now.

He looked up to see Alex yanking off his shirt and chucking it on the floor with the rest of his clothes; seconds later his hands were on Miles’s waist, tugging at his jeans, and Miles was lifting his hips to allow him to pull them off. His underwear went with them, closely followed by his shirt, and then Alex was climbing up him again and there was nothing separating them anymore but skin.

Alex pushed him down into the mattress. “Tell me again,” he said. “Tell me ya want it.” He thrust his naked hips against Miles’s cock and the wave of pleasure that shot up Miles’s spine was so powerful that it was very nearly over for him.

“Oh _god_, Alex. Please just– please.”

Alex pressed a kiss into Miles’s mouth. “Lie still,” he whispered. “I’ll look after ya.”

Miles nodded and let his head fall back against the bed, feeling Alex’s fingers moving up his inner thigh, and then higher, teasing, circling and pressing against him. He hissed and arched his back at the first breach; the sensation was almost too intense, too much. Alex’s other hand was rubbing gentle circles into his hip, wordlessly urging him to relax, and then all he could do was try to remember how to breathe as Alex curled his fingers and pushed inside, angling the thrust of his digits to hit a certain spot–

“Oh _fuck._”

He cried out as Alex repeated the movement, his whole body turning weak, and then Alex’s mouth was on his neck again, and Miles was digging his fingers into Alex’s arms so hard that his fingernails left tiny crescent moons all over Alex’s skin. Alex moaned against his ear, his breathing turning to harsh gasps as he ground his hips against Miles’s thigh. Miles reached down and groped blindly until his hand closed around Alex’s cock. He gripped the hard length of it and Alex yelped.

“Miles,” he gasped. “Wait.” He stopped what he was doing, brought his hands upwards and stroked his thumbs shakily across Miles’s cheeks. “Look at me.”

“Wha–?” Miles blinked up at him with hazy vision. Alex’s pupils were huge and dilated and his expression was one of rapt concentration. His eyes swept over Miles’s face as though he was trying to memorise every line and every curve. Miles felt more than merely naked beneath that gaze. He felt as though Alex had reached right into his chest and cupped both hands around his heart.

When Alex leaned down to kiss him again there was something almost desperate in it, and Miles wrapped both arms around his shoulders and held him in a fierce grip.

“Al–” he breathed into Alex’s mouth.

Alex nodded wordlessly and pulled away again, and Miles closed his eyes. After a minute he felt Alex's hands tugging gently on his waist, and he lifted himself up so that Alex could slide a pillow beneath his hips. Alex settled back down between his legs and Miles's breath stuttered as he felt the slick weight of Alex's cock pushing against him.

“Are you okay?” Alex whispered.

“Yeah– yes, I'm fine, I'm– oh _fuck_, _Alex_.”

Miles could no longer feel his legs. All he could feel was the hard length of Alex's cock pressing into him inch by inch. He let out a guttural moan. The sound of Alex's ragged breathing in his ear was drowning out even the sound of the storm.

Alex held still for a moment and then he began to thrust his hips slowly, almost torturously so, as though he were trying to stop the flow of time itself by prolonging the moment of connection between them. Miles scooped his arms around Alex’s shoulders again and pulled him closer. He jerked his pelvis into Alex’s thrusts and Alex cried out against his mouth. They soon found a quickening rhythm, thrusting and arching, skin sliding over skin, and they clutched at each other as though with this one act they might somehow bind themselves into one entity, never to be divided.

Miles sank into the bed and his mind began to fill with colours. They burst like fireworks behind his eyelids, swirling and weaving into vivid patterns of light. For a second he thought he heard a strange sound, like cracking glass, but then Alex’s fingers were encircling his wrists and his eyes flew open to find Alex staring down at him, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. Miles’s breath hitched and arousal hit him like a gut punch, and Alex must have seen the reaction on his face because in the next moment he was pushing Miles’s arms high above his head and pinning them down against the mattress.

Miles pushed back against Alex’s grip, but it was as if he was once more shackled to the bed. Alex was in control and could do with him exactly as he pleased. Miles shuddered and gave himself over to the feeling; it was fear soothed by desire, vulnerability tamed by trust. _I’m yours_, his thoughts whispered, over and over. _I’m yours_.

Alex tightened his hold and Miles moaned as another wave of arousal crashed through his body. Alex was still watching him, his hair curling in a dark tangle over his eyes and his mouth falling open as they moved together again and again. Miles’s cock lay stiff and neglected between them, achingly hard, and he was almost at the point of begging to be touched. If he didn’t come soon he felt sure that he would go mad. He choked out a gasp as Alex changed the angle of his hips and all at once began hitting that certain spot, and now Miles was sobbing with every thrust, his attempts to beg Alex to touch him lost in the cacophony of his increasingly desperate moans.

It was at that point that the whole room exploded into light.

Alex cried out and there was the sound of glass shattering, and then a sudden freezing gust of wind swept across the bed. Miles shivered as rain began to pelt his naked skin, and once more the room erupted into light – not the cold white of the lightning but a bright blue light that seemed almost to emanate from Alex himself.

“Alex!”

Alex deepened the movement of his hips and began to fuck him even harder. “Miles– oh Jesus _Christ_– _fuck_.”

Miles threw his head back and howled. The rain hammered against his body and Alex was winding him tighter and tighter until he was helpless to fight against the tongues of pleasure that were licking their way around his spine, his body trembling, his hips rising to meet Alex’s every thrust.

Alex gave a violent shudder and collapsed on his forearms. “Miles,” he panted. “I can– I can _feel_ it.”

“What? Feel what?”

Alex jerked his hips and whined. “The rain,” he said. “I can feel the _rain_.”

He let go of Miles’s wrists and reached down between them, and in an instant he was pumping Miles’s cock in a quick, tight rhythm. Miles wailed and bucked into his hand, his body arching and blue light flashing beneath his eyelids, and seconds later he was coming in hot, desperate pulses, his whole body stretched rigid and taut, and Alex was _still_ fucking him right the way through his orgasm, his rhythm faltering and slowly juddering to a halt as he reached his own climax and cried out against Miles’s ear. Miles clutched him tight as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. The wind howled around the room and their sweat evaporated in the freezing air.

Eventually, Alex breathed out in a long shaky sigh. “Are you– are you okay?”

Miles nodded in lieu of words. He wasn’t sure he was capable of speech. His body had begun to tremble and he didn’t know whether it was from effort or from cold.

“Come ‘ere,” Alex said. “You’re shivering.” He withdrew and rolled on to his side and dragged Miles over to face him. He took hold of Miles’s wrists in both hands and began to massage them gently with his fingertips. “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” he said.

“No… no, yeh didn’t.”

“Good.”

Alex lifted Miles’s fingers to his mouth. He pressed light kisses to each one of his knuckles in turn, his eyes never leaving Miles’s face. Miles swallowed. His emotions were welling up in his throat and he felt strangely close to tears.

Alex’s eyes were shining too. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Come on, we need to get cleaned up and dressed.”

Miles blinked at him. “But– but I thought you said–”

“That were before. I feel… different now. Come on. There’s not much time.”

Alex pressed another kiss to his wrist and then he was moving away and gathering up his clothes. Miles sat up gingerly. His body ached, both from their exertions and from the pain of his earlier injuries, which had suddenly come back full force. His mouth tasted unpleasantly of tin and when he stood up his vision went blurry at the edges. He grabbed on to the bedframe for support.

“Al,” he said. “Yeh might need to help me.”

Alex took one look at him and his expression turned dark. “You told me he didn’t hurt you.”

Miles shook his head. “It wasn’t– it wasn’t Mark,” he said. “It was his bloody sister, Annalise.”

Alex went very still. “Don’t say that name,” he said.

“What d’yeh mean, why–”

“Just don’t. Trust me.” Alex came over and hooked his arm carefully around Miles’s waist. “Come on,” he said. “Lean on me. I’ll help ya get dressed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give credit to this song and accompanying [Milex vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRcefpxiLCw) \- it helped to inspire not only this chapter, but the whole story as well :)


	27. Chapter 27

Miles was shivering violently by the time they stepped out into the dark corridor. Alex’s arm was a reassuring anchor around his waist, but his body still felt battered and bruised and his head was hammering like a pneumatic drill. Alex’s expression remained dark, his gaze intent, and there was a determined set to his shoulders that Miles didn’t remember seeing before. Alex held the lantern out in front of them and Miles pressed close to him. He could still smell the traces of rain, sweat and sex on Alex’s skin.

They’d not gone more than a handful of steps before Miles tripped over something in the dark and almost went sprawling.

“What the fuck was that?” he said.

Alex frowned. He lowered the dying lantern towards their feet and shone the light over the carpet.

There was barely any carpet left to be seen. The floor was absolutely crawling with tendrils of ivy. The plant was creeping up the walls, creeping _out_ of the walls, and out of the ceiling too through large, ugly looking cracks.

Miles’s heart began to thud in his chest. “Al,” he whispered. “What the hell’s happening?”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Don’t mind it,” he said. “Come on. Watch your step.”

“The stairs are the other way though.”

“We’re not goin’ downstairs. We’re goin’ back to room 521.”

“What? Why?”

Alex lifted the lantern higher, casting their twin shadows across the wall. The ivy crunched unpleasantly underfoot. “I’ve a gut feelin’,” he said. “That’s just where we gotta go.”

They kept walking. It took longer than it ought to have done to reach the end of the corridor. It was like time had slowed down somehow, or perhaps it was they themselves who were moving in slow motion; Miles couldn’t tell – his senses were foggy and everything around him seemed to have taken on an aura of unreality.

The door was open when they got there, and Alex led them quickly into the room. Miles saw him blink, a look of uncertainty flickering over his face.

“What happened to all the guitars?”

Miles shook his head. “I never saw any guitars in ‘ere, man. Only that.” He pointed towards the monitoring desk and its bank of lifeless screens. “Anna– I mean, Mark’s sister said they were reality monitors. You can… uh… see people’s dreams on them, apparently.”

Alex pursed his lips. His expression became fixed again and he steered them over to the desk. He tapped at a few of the buttons. “We need power,” he murmured.

“What for?”

“I… I dunno. I just have a weird feelin’.”

Miles frowned. “Well, don’t hold yer breath,” he said. “Last time it took ‘em a whole day to get the power back on, remember?”

“We don’t need electricity though. We just need a– a battery or a power source or summat.” Alex appeared to be talking more to himself now than to Miles. He withdrew his arm from Miles’s waist and dragged his hand through his hair.

Miles blinked at a sudden memory. “Try the bottom right desk drawer,” he said.

Alex looked at him, then knelt and opened the drawer to which Miles was pointing. He pulled out a bunch of cables and dumped them on the ground, and then his eyes lit up. “This’ll do,” he said. He lifted out the small, battery powered generator, set it on the desk and then bent down to grab one of the retro looking television sets that still lay littered across the floor of the room.

Miles watched as he began to hook up one to the other. He glanced nervously towards the door. “Al,” he said. “What the hell are yeh doin’?”

Alex shrugged. “Followin’ me instincts,” he said. “Mark showed me how to set these things up when I were performin’ down in the bar. I didn’t really understand what they were for at the time, but…” His voice trailed off as the small screen began to fizz with grey static. He began to turn the knobs this way and that. Gradually, a blurry image came into focus.

“What the fuck…” Miles said. “That’s _us_.”

The image showed the two of them from behind. They were leaning over the desk in room 521 and watching themselves on the small screen, just as they were doing now. He spun around, looking for evidence of a hidden camera in the ceiling, but there was nothing there. He turned back towards the desk, trying to ignore the feeling of uneasiness that was uncoiling in the pit of his stomach. He wrapped his arms across his chest.

Alex began to turn the knobs again, and a strange shimmer rippled through the air.

Miles inhaled sharply. “What the _hell_ did yeh just do?”

The room was suddenly full of instruments. Guitars, fiddles, mandolins… even a fucking harp. They were hanging all over the walls, squatting in stands across the floor. Miles stepped forward and brushed his fingers tentatively over the harp strings. The notes rang out in an eerie chime. He breathed out in a rush. “It’s _real_,” he said. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here?”

Alex was busy hooking up a second television set to the small generator. “I don’t think these are just reality monitors,” he said quietly. “I think they’re also reality creators.”

Miles stared at him. His mind darted back to the screens that he’d seen scattered all around the hotel. What the hell were these machines even capable of? He thought of the hordes of guests who had crowded out the bar on the night of Mark’s gig, and who had then seemingly vanished without trace the next day. Those little television sets had been all over the bloody place that night. He sat down heavily on the desk.

“I… I don’t think I feel very well,” he said.

Alex reached over and gave his thigh a squeeze. “You’re okay,” he said. “We’re gettin’ out of ‘ere. Look.”

Miles turned to look at the image displayed on the second television. “That’s your car!” he said. It was the same shot that he’d seen before; Alex’s car parked up and abandoned on the shoulder of the highway. He turned back to Alex. “But… but how does that help us?” he said. “Yeh wanna chance makin’ a run for it through the forest? ‘Cause that path we came in on, man, it’s– it’s just not there anymore. I looked. And the storm’s fuckin’ crazy–”

Alex shook his head. “No, you’re right, we’ll not get back that way. I need ya to help me wi’ summat. I’m gonna try to make a door…”

Miles felt his eyes go wide. “No, Alex, that’s too dangerous. What if we end up somewhere bad? What if we get stuck there? What if–”

“We don’t have a choice,” Alex said softly. “I need ya to trust me with this.” He reached out and cupped his hand against Miles’s cheek. “I– I really think I can do it,” he said. “But I can’t do it wi’out you.”

Miles stared back at him. The look in Alex’s eyes was one of steadfast resolve and it made his heart flip a little. “I do trust yeh,” he said. “Just– what do yeh need me to do exactly?”

Alex sat down on the desk beside him. He took hold of Miles’s hand and lifted it to his own forehead. “I need ya to tap this spot just here while I concentrate,” he said.

Miles pulled his fingers back. “But what if I hurt yeh?” he said.

“You won’t.”

Miles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said. He pressed his fingers to Alex’s forehead and Alex closed his eyes. He began to tap in a light regular rhythm and Alex shivered. Miles paused. “You alright?”

“M’fine. Keep going.”

Miles frowned but he resumed tapping. The skin on Alex’s forehead felt warm beneath his fingertips, and as he tapped he noticed that the air behind Alex’s right shoulder was starting to shimmer. Miles stared hard at that spot, his eyes widening as the outline of a tall rectangular shape began to form out of nothing. It was faint and wavering and not quite real, but it was unmistakably there.

“I can see somethin’,” he whispered.

“Is it– is it solid?” Alex said. His breathing had become laboured.

“No, it’s– it’s kind of see-through.”

Alex made a small pained sound. “I can’t– it’s not enough,” he said. “I– need summat–”

“Don’t push it too hard, man, you’ll fuckin’ injure yerself.”

Miles took Alex’s hand and squeezed it gently. Alex opened his eyes. His pupils were huge and he gazed back at Miles as though he was seeing him from a million light years away.

“I’ve an idea,” he said.

“What?”

“Come ‘ere.”

Miles leaned in and Alex seized his face with both hands and kissed him. Miles blinked once in surprise, but then succumbed to the pressure of Alex’s mouth. He parted his lips with a sigh. Alex’s mouth was hot, his kiss firm and insistent, and the sweep of his tongue sent tingles across Miles’s skin. Miles’s fingertips were still pressed to Alex’s forehead and the skin there felt like it was burning up with a fever. He opened his eyes and let out a muffled gasp. There behind Alex now stood a tall black door, solid as a brick wall except for the fact that it was floating in the air, attached to nothing. It glowed around the edges with a soft blue light. Miles glanced down at the image on the television set, and saw that an identical door had just appeared right beside their car.

“Al–”

Alex hummed against his lips and kept kissing him, apparently oblivious. Miles couldn’t help but kiss him back. His eyes slipped closed again. The sensation of Alex’s tongue moving against his own was setting off fireworks in his body and he felt like he was floating through space, all his aches and pains temporarily forgotten. He wished he could freeze the moment. He wished that Alex would just keep on kissing him forever. His heart swelled with a bright burgeoning hope. They were actually going to get out of this in one piece, and then at long last they would be together. Everything was finally going to be alright, everything was going to be–

Miles choked as sharp fingers closed over his upper arms and yanked him backwards. He was dragged across the room, tripping over his own feet. He began to struggle, but before he could jerk himself free his right arm was twisted up behind his back and a bright bolt of pain stabbed into his shoulder. A kick to the back of his legs sent him to his knees and he yelped as his unseen assailant gave his arm another hard yank.

“Miles!” Alex was on his feet, blinking in confusion, fear written into every line of his face.

“Hello, Alex,” said a female voice. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Miles’s stomach lurched. “Annalise,” he hissed. He began to struggle once more but then cried out as she twisted his arm even higher up his back.

“Don’t hurt him!” Alex shouted. His voice was shrill and Miles could hear the panic in it.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to give me orders, boy,” Annalise said.

Miles gritted his teeth against the agony in his shoulder. “What the fuck d’yeh _want_?” he said. “Let us go, we’ve done _nuffin_ to you.”

Annalise growled low in her throat. “Don’t take me for a fool,” she said. “I know you’ve been helping my brother. I’ve searched every room in this whole wretched place and all I can find is you two, so tell me – where is he? Where are you hiding him?”

“We ‘aven’t seen yer bloody brother for _hours_,” Miles said. “Have we, Al?”

Alex was just shaking his head. The colour had drained from his face and he was staring at Annalise as though she was his worst nightmare made flesh. “Please,” he said. “Please just let Miles go.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she spat. “Not until you return my brother. He’s _mine_. Do you understand? He doesn’t _belong_ to you.”

“We don’t ‘av yer fuckin’ brother!” Miles shouted.

Annalise bent down close to him. Her breath came hot on the back of his neck. “Is that the game you want to play?” she hissed. “Maybe I’ll just take your Alex instead then–”

“Like _fuck_ you will. Alex get out! Go through the door!”

She tutted under her breath. “I wouldn’t do that, Alex,” she said. “Not if you care about your friend’s wellbeing.” She gave Miles’s arm another twist and he couldn’t help but let out a sob of pain.

“_Please_,” Alex said. “Just let ‘im go. You have me, okay? I’ll stay here wi’ ya if ya want. Just– just let ‘im go and I’ll stay–”

“Al, don’t–”

“Miles, it’s my choice. I won’t let her hurt ya. If only one of us gets to go free then it’s goin’ to be you–”

Annalise let out an ugly laugh. “This argument is very touching, really,” she said. “But until I see my brother again, neither of you are going anywhere. This is your last warning, Alex. Tell me where he is.”

Miles flinched as her fingers pressed against his forehead. Her skin felt cold and strange, and suddenly it seemed as though the walls were closing in around him. The floor was no longer solid. It had turned to a horrible viscous substance with the consistency of porridge. It was rising up his thighs, up his chest, and he couldn’t move. It was sucking him down like quicksand. It was up to his throat. He was sinking and he was going to drown in it, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t–

“Get your hands off him!”

Miles blinked and jerked his head away, and the room swam back into focus. Alex’s face was a battleground of emotions. He was backed right up against the desk and his body remained locked in a rigid posture of fear, but now his eyes were furious. “Mark was right about you,” he said. “You _are_ fuckin’ crazy.”

“Crazy?” she said. Her voice dropped to a threatening whisper. “I’m not crazy. Mark’s the one who’s out of control. He’s a danger to everyone and everything, and I’m the only one who can take care of him. Give him to me. Give me my _brother_.”

“He doesn’t _want_ ya to take care of him,” Alex snarled. “It’s obvious he can’t stand ya. He couldn’t wait to be _rid_ of ya.”

Miles gritted his teeth as Annalise’s nails sank into the flesh of his arm. “So I see he’s got into your head too,” she said. “I warned you not to come here Alex, I warned you to stay away from him, but you were just too stupid to listen–”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “That was _you_,” he said.

Annalise sighed with irritation. “Make sense, boy.”

Alex was shaking his head. “Mark said– he said he built this place for me. He said it were meant to be my dream come true, or some such wank. But if that’s the case, then why would he have given me nightmares about it? That weren’t him at all, was it? It was _you_.”

Annalise growled. “Give the boy a prize,” she said. “Are you always this slow on the uptake?”

Miles began to struggle again. “If yeh never wanted us here, then why don’t yeh just let us fuckin’ _leave?_ For the last time – we don’t _know_ where yer brother is–”

Annalise let out another unpleasant laugh. “Sorry, Miles,” she said. “But clearly it’s too late for that. You’ve let Mark make puppets of you both, haven’t you?” She tightened her grip on his arm. “If you won’t give him up to me, then you leave me with no choice.”

Alex glanced rapidly around the room, as though he was looking for a way out. “What are you going to do?” he said.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” she said. Her voice dripped with menace.

Alex’s arms disappeared behind his back. “Let Miles go first,” he said.

Miles twisted desperately in Annalise’s grip. “Al, Jesus, _please_, will yeh just use the bloody door and get the fuck out of ‘ere–” His words died in a yelp of pain as Annalise grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head backwards.

Alex’s eyes blazed. “Leave ‘im the fuck _alone_! If you want me, come over ‘ere and get me. Let ‘im go and I won’t fight ya.”

“Stupid boy,” Annalise hissed. “What makes you think it would matter if you did?”

Miles cried out as she yanked again on his arm and seconds later he was flat on his face. He tried to get to his feet but a kick to the stomach left him struggling for breath. His vision blurred and he could hear Alex shouting. He lay gasping on his side, curling instinctively into a ball.

Annalise’s voice came close to his ear. “Stay down there if you know what’s good for you.”

Miles blinked, trying to refocus. Annalise was moving away from him. He turned his head and saw her crossing the room towards Alex, and Alex was just standing there, his arms still held behind his back and his eyes burning with an anger the likes of which Miles had never seen before.

Dread gripped his stomach in a vice. He tried to move, to sit up, but his body wouldn’t obey him. He summoned what little breath he had left and choked out a cry.

“Alex!”

Alex glanced at him; it was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Miles’s eyes went wide. The sudden realisation of what Alex was trying to do hit him like a jab to the throat.

“Miles, get your head down!”

Alex showed his hands… and they were holding the television set tuned to room 521. He turned the dial. Miles buried his face in his arms. The windows blew inwards with a crash of shattering glass and suddenly Annalise was screaming.

The storm whirled into the room, carrying with it the freezing rain. The carpet began to slither like something alive. Miles jerked his hands away from it in horror as it rustled and wriggled beneath him. He forced himself to move. He made a grab for the leather bench that sat to his right and hauled himself on to it. He turned his eyes towards the front of the room, desperately seeking Alex, and saw instead Annalise. She was covered in the writhing, hissing tendrils of what he suddenly realised was ivy. It curled and coiled around her like rope, and more of it was worming its way in through the shattered window and tangling itself about her legs and her arms.

And there beyond her was Alex, his fingers on the dials of the television set. The screen showed the whole diorama unfolding in miniature, and Alex’s hands… Alex’s hands were glowing. He was wreathed in some shining aura, some shimmering colour that Miles had never seen before; it was ocean and fire, cobalt and gold, and his eyes blazed with it.

Miles blinked and his vision blurred again. _I’m dreaming_, he thought. _I’m still lost in Alex’s dream. This can’t be real. This can’t…_

Annalise was screaming and choking on the ivy as it wound its way around her face. And then Miles saw that she was glowing too, but not with an aura. An eerie red light poured forth from her mouth, from her eyes, from her skin, and Miles suddenly realised what it was.

“Alex, get away from her! She’s trying to make a door!”

Alex looked at him with his burning eyes, not seeming to understand. Miles’s gaze darted around the room and now he saw that the walls were glowing too, everything tainted with that dull red light. The dread clenched around his throat. The whole fucking hotel was a door, and he and Alex were about to fall right through it.

“We have to get out of here!” he yelled. He got to his feet and stumbled across the room. He seized hold of Alex’s arm and Alex dropped the television set. It landed on the floor with a crack and the image flickered once before it was buried beneath the writhing mass of ivy. Miles yanked on Alex’s arm and tugged him towards the black door which still floated in the middle of the room.

Annalise’s scream was something inhuman. She tried to make a grab for them but the ivy held her back, tying and tangling her so that she couldn’t move. She grasped with her arms, clutching at the air. “Stop!” she shrieked.

“Stay back!” Miles yelled at her. He made a grab for the handle of the door and yanked it open.

Annalise screamed again. “I won’t let you take him!”

She lurched forward with a sound of ivy being ripped out by the root, and the red light gushed from her mouth like a waterfall of blood.

Miles stared at her, for a second transfixed. He flinched as Alex’s hand wrapped around his own and squeezed his fingers tight.

“Miles, come on!”

Miles turned to look at him. Alex was no longer glowing, and his brown eyes held the reflection of Miles’s own terror. As one, they turned towards the door and leapt into the darkness. Annalise’s wail became a fading echo behind them, and then they were falling.

Miles squeezed his eyes shut, the wind whistling in his ears. There was no air in his lungs to scream. He clung to Alex with every fibre of his will, struck with a horrifying certainty that if he were to let go of him in this terrible void, they would never find each other again.

They fell.

The shock of the landing jarred Miles’s body. He found himself sprawled out on the road, wet grey tarmac beneath his hands, and the rain was sheeting down in a torrent, and the lightning… the lightning was–

“Miles, get in the fuckin’ car!” Alex was dragging him frantically to his feet, and then he was fumbling with the key, wrenching open the car door and shoving Miles into the backseat. He clambered in afterwards and slammed the door shut just as a blast of lightning ripped open the sky. The light that flashed was a dull and unnatural red, and the whole sky was boiling with it. The wind buffeted the car, rocking it violently from side to side and Miles heard himself whimper. He was choking on his own heartbeat.

Alex grabbed hold of him and pulled him close. Miles hid his face against Alex’s neck and Alex’s arms came around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. “Sssh, we’re okay, we’re okay.”

“Al, when will it _stop_?”

“Just hold on to me. Don’t let go, okay? Don’t let go.”

The wind screamed and moaned, and the lightning flashed, and the thunder was an agonised howl that tore the world in half. The car shook and shuddered in the teeth of the gale and Miles clung to Alex with every last ounce of his strength. He didn’t let go.


	28. Chapter 28

Alex opened his eyes to stillness, and a silence broken only by the soft sound of Miles’s breathing. The early morning light filtered in through the fogged-up windows, and when he lifted a hand to wipe the condensation from the glass, he saw that the sky was empty and clear. The storm had vanished with the night.

Miles was fast asleep, curled up in a ball with his head resting on Alex’s thigh. His face still wore the remnants of a frown, and his fingers remained tightly entwined with Alex’s own. Alex carefully extricated himself and brushed his hand gently through Miles’s hair. He took in a deep breath and let it out again. They were alive. They were alive and together, and somehow they were going to get home. The logistics of the journey still required a solution, but the problem seemed a small one after the events of last night.

He frowned. What exactly had happened last night? His memories were blurry again. There had been a door, he was sure of that much. There had been a door, and the sensation of falling. He recalled the sound of shattered glass, and then the most awful scream. He remembered heat and sweat and passion, and bodies intertwined. And before that, he remembered an orange light in a starless sky… and fire… and a kiss.

Miles murmured in his sleep and his frown deepened, but he didn’t wake. Alex watched him. He let his fingers trail lightly over Miles’s cheek and a rush of warmth began to pool in his chest. It felt like the slow spill of warm honey, and he didn’t try to fight it. There was no reason to fight it any more. He smiled, stroked Miles’s cheek once again and let the feeling grow until his whole body was humming. It wasn’t just love. He’d been in love before and this was something different, something far bigger and greater than that. This felt more like… completeness.

And yet...

His smile faded. He leaned his head back and gazed out of the window. The morning remained silent, and there was no sign of the door through which he and Miles had made their escape. His memories of their strange adventure were growing ever more dreamlike in the growing daylight.

_But it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been._

He frowned again. There was a nagging feeling of doubt in his stomach that wouldn’t quite leave him; a ripple of uneasy curiosity that demanded to be sated. There was something he had to know.

He stroked his hand once more through Miles’s hair, and then gently repositioned him to lie flat upon the back seat. He slid himself away, eased open the car door and stepped out on to the road. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Above him the sky was cloudless, but the air was still cool enough to make him shiver. His eyes lingered on Miles’s sleeping face through the window, and for a moment he paused, hesitating beside the car. There was no sense in waking him though. He’d be back before Miles even noticed he was gone. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and touched them silently to the glass.

“I won’t be long,” he whispered. “I promise.”

He inhaled a deep breath and set off at a jog towards the forest.

* * *

Miles stirred. Some foreign sound had dredged him up from the depths of sleep, but he wasn’t yet ready for consciousness. His thoughts were still full of foggy images only half-remembered, and strange colours that had no name.

His aches and pains were beginning to return, but not all of the feelings were unpleasant. Despite his somewhat hazy memories, his body was giving him a not unwelcome rundown of all the places where Alex had touched him last night. He began to smile. He felt light, unburdened, as though a weight had been lifted. He'd finally taken that leap of faith. He'd let go of his fears, confessed his feelings, and thrown himself off that cliff... and Alex had been there to catch him, after all.

Or had they actually jumped together? He had a strange memory now of falling, and of clinging to Alex as though their lives depended on it. They'd been running from something... something that'd wanted to tear them apart.

His recollections grew clearer and his smile morphed into a frown. He extended an arm and reached out for Alex, and his fingers closed over empty air.

“Al?”

His eyes shot open. He was still in the car, but now he was alone.

The sound that had woken him… he suddenly knew what it was. It had been the click of a car door.

He sat bolt upright and pressed his face to the window, but the road outside was empty. There was nothing out there except for sky, forest and dusty scrubland.

_Fuck._

Miles wrenched the door open and scrambled out of the car. The movement was too sudden and it made his head spin, and for a moment he had to stop and focus all his energy on not blacking out. When his vision cleared, he turned to look all around him, but there was no sign of Alex. His heart began thumping in his chest. There was only one logical place that Alex could have gone.

His mind emptied of thought and he started to run. He sprinted across the road as fast as his aching body would let him. His feet slapped against the tarmac and he skidded and almost fell when he reached the rough ground on the other side. He dashed past the broken payphone which still hung uselessly from its cord, and he stumbled over rocks and brambles as he fought his way into the trees.

“Alex! Where are you?”

He stopped, looked around, but he could go no further. The forest ahead of him was completely sealed off. It was encircled by a high chain-link fence that was almost totally overgrown with ivy and weeds. There was no path and no evidence to say that a path had ever been there, and Alex was nowhere to be seen.

Miles let out a choking sound. “Alex… oh god, please…”

“Miles, I’m here.”

Miles spun round, and there was Alex emerging from the shrubs behind him. Miles lunged forwards with a cry and yanked him into a crushing embrace.

“Don’t you ever– don’t you _ever_ do that to me again. I thought you’d gone. I thought they’d _taken_ yeh. Jesus fucking _Christ_–”

He tightened his grip and felt Alex’s arms come around his waist, and then Alex was squeezing him back.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I should’ve woken ya.”

“Yes, yeh bloody well _should_ have,” Miles said. “Yeh scared the _shit_ outta me.” He tried to sound angry, but his words were half muffled against Alex’s neck and his breath was still coming in heaving gulps.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said again. “I’m alright though. Hey, look at me.”

Miles lifted his head and looked at him. Alex’s hair was in complete disarray and he looked like he’d just lost a fight with a bramble bush. “Yeh look like shit,” he said.

Alex made an indignant sound. “Oi,” he said. “I were just about to say summat nice to ya then, but if that’s the way ya wanna–”

Miles yanked him closer and kissed him roughly on the mouth. “Shut-up,” he whispered. He kissed him again, and a moment later Alex was kissing him back. They stayed like that for a good while, kissing in broad daylight, Miles with his hands on Alex’s waist and Alex with his fingers curling into Miles’s hair.

Eventually they had to stop to catch their breath, and when Miles opened his eyes he found Alex watching him with an unexpectedly sober expression. “What is it?” he whispered. The air around them was so still and quiet, it seemed wrong to raise his voice any louder.

Alex nodded towards the forest. “The path’s gone,” he said. “The sign’s gone too. I looked for it everywhere, in case it’d got blown down by the storm, but it’s not here anymore.”

Miles swallowed. “Yeah.” He looked back over his shoulder towards the chain-link fence. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird.”

“D’ya think we just imagined it all?”

Miles frowned. “I don’t think so, man. If we dreamed it, then where in the hell did yeh get that hideous suit?”

Alex looked down at himself and seemed to notice for the first time that he was still wearing Mark’s clothes. “Oh fuck,” he breathed.

“We should get outta this place,” Miles said. “Mark’s sister might come lookin’ for us.”

Alex shook his head. “No I– I think we’re safe. If she could reach us here, she would’ve come after us already.”

Miles cast another wary look around. It really was unnaturally quiet. The wind had dropped completely and the forest lay hunched and silent beyond the fence, as though it were listening to their every word.

“What about Mark?” he said. “Where d’yeh think he went?”

Alex shrugged. “I wish I knew. We were fightin’ each other, and then… something strange happened… and he just disappeared.”

Miles scowled. “Well I hope his sister got to him after all. That fuckin’ prick deserves everythin’ he gets.”

Alex shrugged again. “I dunno,” he said quietly. “I mean, I know he was crazy an’ all that, but he did honestly help me wi’ me writing. He were even kind to me, sometimes. Towards the end, I got the feelin’ that he was mostly just scared–”

“_Scared_? The guy was a menace, Al, don’t defend him. For Christ’s sake, he tied me to a fuckin’ bed and he made you practically forget yer own name. He ran bloody rings round us both, _and_ his sister. What the hell makes yeh think he was scared?”

“Everyone’s scared of somethin’, Miles.”

Miles frowned. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” He swept his gaze over Alex’s face, taking in the familiar lines, the pale skin and the dark ruffled hair. Alex looked back at him with his wide brown eyes.

“What?”

Miles paused, but then shook his head. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” He reached out, took Alex’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “There used to be somethin’ I was scared of too,” he said. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

Alex smiled at him then. He squeezed Miles’s hand back. “I don’t think I am either,” he said.

Miles gazed at Alex for a moment longer, and then he leaned in and kissed him once again. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back to the car. I want you outta that fuckin’ suit, it’s givin’ me the creeps.”

Alex chuckled. “If you say that’s the reason, I’ll believe ya.”

Miles swatted at his arm. “Oh shut-up.”

They crossed back over the road, still hand in hand. When they got to the car, Alex reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and opened the driver’s side door.

“What’re yeh doin’?”

“Just get in for a minute. I wanna try summat.”

Miles climbed into the passenger side and pulled the door shut. Alex stuck the keys in the ignition and turned them. The car rumbled into life. Miles held his breath for a moment, but there was no smoke, and no acrid smell. Alex scratched a hand through his hair and stared at the dials on the dashboard. He pressed the accelerator gingerly and the car slid forward without a hitch or a hiccup. He braked and brought them to a halt. “There’s nowt wrong with the bloody thing,” he said.

Miles frowned. “But– but how can that be?” he said. “It wouldn’t even move before. There was smoke coming out the engine and everythin’…” He turned to look at Alex, and for a moment they just stared at each other. Miles could feel his skin slowly beginning to creep. “So there’s no path through the forest anymore,” he said, “and now the car’s behavin’ like there was never anythin’ wrong with it in the first place…”

Alex stared back at him. “Yeah. I know.”

Miles swallowed. “Al,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, yeah? And _please_, will ya do me a favour, and take off that bloody suit.”

Alex nodded. “Sure,” he said. “If it’ll make ya feel better.” He shrugged off the suit jacket and tossed it on to the back seat. As he did so, a piece of paper fluttered out of the pocket and landed on the floor.

“What’s that?”

Alex picked it up. “Don’t know.” He unfolded it and flicked his gaze over the contents. “Shit, it’s lyrics,” he said. “It’s from me notebook. I thought I’d lost ‘em all back at the hotel.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “What’s it say? Anythin’ good?”

Alex was still staring at the words on the paper. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, actually. In fact, ya know what?”

“What?”

Alex turned to face him, and suddenly Miles froze. Alex was looking at him with bright shining eyes, and his lips were curved into a disturbingly familiar crooked smile.

“I think I just thought of a new idea for our Puppets album,” he said.

Miles just stared at him. His heart was beating in his throat. “Al,” he whispered. “Why are yeh smilin’ like that?"

Alex let out a low chuckle. “Cos I’m happy, why d’ya think?” He turned his gaze back to the lyrics in his hand and his eyes glittered like gems in the sunlight. “Let’s just get home, yeah?” he said. “I’ve a sudden feelin’ that this is gonna be the best bloody record we’ve ever written.”

He looked up at Miles again, and his crooked smile widened into a crooked grin.

And then he closed one eye in a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks ;)
> 
> I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has given this fic so much love and support - it's been a huge part of my life for the last six months and I'll be sad to see it go, but it's been such a pleasure sharing it with you guys and I cherish every comment and all the awesome chats that I've had with people in the fandom :)
> 
> For those of you not already aware, there is a Milex Big Bang happening on 15th December 2019. If anyone out there is a Milex fic writer or fanartist, please come and take part with us! More details can be found on my tumblr @elorianna tagged #milexbigbang :)


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